


Hello Neighbour Beyond the Dream

by LoSzeged



Category: Hello Neighbor (Video Game)
Genre: Dreams vs. Reality, Empathy, Gen, Hospitals, Mental Health Issues, Personal Growth, Schizophrenia, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 00:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20554904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoSzeged/pseuds/LoSzeged
Summary: (A realistic interpretation taking place and continuing off where Act3 built from and ended) Nicky Roth looks to start his life over, by following the suggestion of his Dreams and overcoming his fears. Now in his waking reality.Note: (Because someone asked me in a dm), this is NOT a ship/shipping work.





	1. Finding That Solution

I can't keep living like this.   
The past can't keep haunting me forever.  
Who knew it would've taken coming back HERE for me to piece it all together?  
Too bad I hadn't come back sooner. Instead of NOW, When I'm here because I have nowhere else to go.  
Hh--. Considering the look of the house across the street I Guess I should be relieved the old house is still standing. Amazing. A little stroke of luck.  
Wonder what's gonna bomb from it?  
\------ I'm surprised how easily it all came to me actually. Well. Maybe all those years of being followed by the past just finally all came together for me.  
That night I came back here. To where it had happened...  
And I know now--What I should do.  
What I Need to do to finally put the past behind me for good and move forwards.  
I really hope it's not just another crazy idea.  
I need to see Mr. Peterson again.  
I need to meet him on equal ground and fix what happened all those years ago.  
I've realised what I saw of him back then was probably distorted by my child mind. I didn't understand what was happening. Or why. I just wanted to have my friends back. It was all too complicated for just a kid who lives across the street to understand.  
And what I did-- It's partly my fault what happened with me. For making those stupid decisions. But I didn't know what else to do. Neither did he.  
So, if I'm going to get my life straight -- Ever. I need to clear up this thing with the past. It's the only thing left for me to try and do that I haven't done.  
\---------------  
For years, Nicky had kept a copy of the article confirming Mr. Peterson had been taken by the police. It had given him some slight comfort on nights when he woke from some terrible dream.  
But he knew Theodore Peterson wasn't simply sentenced to jail and put there.  
He was diagnosed insane and 'not suitable' for prison.  
The law transferred him to the mental hospital.  
And that's where Nicky stands now.  
("Deep breaths, Nick, Deep breaths.")  
I tell myself outside the entry doors.  
I might've said I'd come to terms--and an understanding, with my past. But I'm still terrified.  
("That's why we're doing this Nicky.")  
I tell myself straight. And it's true. If I do this. I'll face my fears. And maybe, just maybe, I can finally stop feeling fears.  
\----° What am I going to say though? How am I going to do this? Is this Really the right thing to do? (We all know I've messed up before) Is he going to remember me? If he's insane maybe he won't. Maybe I'll have come here for nothing--- No. Even Then it'd have been worth it. If you go in there and he's just some crazy old man that Doesn't remember you-- Problems solved.  
Nothing to fear. At all. Clear.  
\----- But what if he does remember me.  
What if he's still angry that I'd got out.  
What if he blames me for ruining his life.  
What if he wants to kill me for showing my free-walking face before him when he's been stuck here and under restriction.  
Oh God oh God oh God.....  
I start considering turning back around.  
"NO."  
I tell myself firmly, stiffening up.  
You HAVE to do this. Nick.  
You Have to man up and face this.  
You can't let this keep holding you back.  
Come on.  
We can do this.  
\--- Sometimes I wonder if I should be in a mental hospital. ---  
Realising how I probably look out here I steel myself up and push open the door.  
I'm going to do this.  
I'm going to do this.  
Hopefully the clerk doesn't think I'm here to make an Admission or need a sit-down evaluation.  
Stop thinking that. Just play it cool.  
\----   
Nicky walks up to the desk counters, clearing his brain out every foot closer. It's not easy but somewhere he already feels just a Little bit stronger for going through those doors.  
The brown-eyed man in a white and greyish suit looks up to him as he nears the counter;  
"Can I help you?"  
"Erm..." I hesitate to get my tongue around the words,  
" Mr--Mr. Theodore Peterson. I'd-- Like to know if I could- Maybe- visit with him?"  
The man gives me a questioning look but his first response isn't automatically No.  
"And you would be?"  
"I'm, Nicky-- Nicholas, Roth."  
.....It occurs to me I'm probably going to have to do some explaining.  
Maybe I'll explain it to him and he'll tell me I'm crazy for coming here.  
-But he does. He tells the man what he's doing here.  
And the man seems a little uncertain.---Before he seems to recall some news he'd heard of victims wanting to or meeting with the people who had once hurt them--and to good result. So his unease quickly turns to a supportive lean.-  
He commends me for having the courage to want to come here. I'm not sure if that makes me feel stronger or more anxious, it's hard to tell.  
After a few more minutes of talking, he agrees to bring me inside. As a visitor.  
I hadn't been sure what to say, but I guess it got him when I'd said;  
"I just....I don't know....Feel like I have to do this. In order to move forwards, you know--? I mean-- It's the only thing LEFT for me to do. And I just... Hope for once it's the RIGHT thing to do.."  
The man had empathy on his face after I'd said that.  
"...I hope it goes well for you."  
It meant alot that he said that honestly.  
\------ The mental hospital wasn't like how I'd thought it would be. I guess I only picture those old-fashioned torture asylums. This place doesn't look anywhere near as scary.---  
When we'd gone down a few halls, the man turned his head back to me as if a thought just came to him.  
"Oh." He pauses. "You're- Also aware the Mr. Peterson is deaf?"  
No. Pretty sure I Didn't know that.  
...Oh boy....Uh......  
"Since....Since when?"   
I ask genuinely unsure.  
"As far as I know he was deaf before being sent here. I couldn't tell you any more than that, honestly."  
............Thoughts started rapidly turning in my mind.  
Mr. Peterson. Deaf. Before he was sent here.  
......Deaf. That means.............  
...............Wait...............WHAT---  
("Don't over think it Nicky.")  
I tell myself as a panic and confusion started to come in. What am I--- Wh---  
(" Just Don't over think it right now. You're already here so...")  
I feel like I'm spinning again. As we walk up to and stop at a patient room. I'm struggling to get back the composure I'd fleetingly experienced earlier.  
I only get more grounded because my chest gets heavier as the man presses a button beside the door before opening it.  
I cringe, not knowing what to expect.  
I don't know if I can do this after all.  
The man I think communicates something and then I realise he's lightly directed at me.  
And then I see Him. And I go still.  
He's just sitting on the floor, in a cross-legged position. So I don't know why I'm freezing up so much----Because of his stare. It's almost exactly the same as I remember it being. And that's it. For a few moments we just stare at each other.  
Just like before I can't begin to guess what he's thinking. Just when I started to untense a little,   
Mr.Peterson turns his head further. Staring with even more attention.  
I don't even know if he recognises me.  
"I....Uh..m..."  
WHAT did I plan on saying again??  
".....Nick. Olas. Roth."  
I nearly faint. He remembers me. He recognises me.  
Oh God...  
Secretly I'm thankful the clerk hasn't left me.  
Do I nod or--? Stiffly I give a nod.  
And I swear to the aliens something goes through his head. It doesn't seem like anger but it makes me want nonetheless, and that turns to disturbed, as a weird smile slowly forms on Mr Peterson's lips.  
"Hello."  
"....."  
I don't answer the simple phrase. I don't know again.  
Seeing him here isn't pulling me forwards right now, right now I'm tripping backwards I feel.  
But no. No. You came here--To settle your story. He's not gonna kill you Nicky. He's been here for 20 years. He remembers you. He's not stupid. Crazy maybe, but not stupid. Just---For the love of anything DO Something Natural, Nick. Don't make this harder than it has to be.  
"Hi."  
I get a sudden spike of clarity. Confidence even. I surprise myself, " You look...Pretty good."  
For his age and all. I'm not even lying. He does. But after I say that he gives me that similarly blank stare that I'm used to. WAS, used to.  
\----Nicky. You just told a man who's been living in a mental hospital for 20 years that he looks good. That...That's.....Uh....-----  
Just when I start to realise error in what I said my nerves return to life as Mr Peterson gets up.  
Oy vey. I messed up. He wants to wring me out.  
He doesn't care if there's a witness. What's more time on his sentence anyway??  
Mr Peterson must have seen the rushing fight or flight in me because he looks somehow uncertain. He moves his mouth as if to speak but I don't hear anything come out. I wonder for a second if I'm just overacting and misconstruing the situation or whether my adrenaline is valid.  
He looks past me, at the staff man I almost forgot was near still, and I feel stupid when the man says;  
" You're actually not really supposed to meet with patients in their rooms, due to the lack of supervision."  
\----Mr Peterson knew that. That's the only reason he got up. It wasn't because he was gonna strangle me.   
I'm still paranoid.

\------

\----Since hospital rules prohibit visitors from being with patients in the rooms, the staff-man led us to a bigger room that had sets of tables, chairs and even couches.  
It's like I thought the clerk was going to stay with me and guide me the entire time I was here instead of going back to his own post at the front desk.  
And even though the place isn't really closed in or dreary, and even though there's still staff around in the area I think I felt safer--Or at least more assured, when the clerk guy was here.  
Now I'm just awkwardly sitting at a distance from the guy who once locked me in his basement.  
\---Because you broke in and wouldn't leave it alone. He wasn't mentally sound.---  
I remind myself to stay steady. But I'm not sure how to or what to do. It's weird.  
\---No it's not. You're already a bad social navigator. You're in reason to be uncomfortable Nicky.---  
I search my brain for something- Anything to say.  
Fearing he'll get impatient if I keep staring at the table or at the sides in silence.  
He's probably wondering why I'm here. Bu--Why---I....  
I can't think of anyway to start.  
The slightest movement from Mr Peterson alerted me again, but I see I'm probably just being weird. Because he's put his hand to his chin and seems vaguely in wonder.  
For some reason I ask; "What do you do here?"  
"....."   
I feel like he understood what I said but his gaze just drifts. His hands curl into fists and I wonder if Now he's envisioning punching me. Whatever the thought is it seems to turn troubling.  
"Mmn...."  
I start questioning what I'm doing here again but my thoughts are interupted.  
"You. Really. Want to know?"  
I know I'm staring again, my brain goes in different directions; Do I want to know? Is the answer horrible? Why wouldn't it be? You ask-- You're asking him about his activities again just like you were as a kid. Is that suspicious? Does he think I'm after something?He doesn't like questions. Why am I asking casual questions--  
"I...um..."  
"Nothing suspicious."  
Mr Peterson says, and I'm surprised he seems to be thinking of an actual answer to my stupid question. Moving his hands around above the table, ruminating.  
"I make.... Dolls. And.... Things."  
I'm about as lost for words as he is, and blink several times like it helps me understand what he said better. My first thought is--- 'What-?' the second--- 'Dolls-?'  
I end up just saying; "Really?"  
He just gives me that stare again.  
This is strenuous. I don't think it could get worse, but the Mr Peterson says; "It's nice to see you again."  
So clearly. Yet I still double take-- Wariness jumping up uneasily. "What do you mean?"  
I'm suspicious. I want an answer to this one.  
He thinks about it.  
And I wonder if he even knows why he said that, or if he's just saying random things like I am.  
("But it was clear.")  
My old paranoid of what Mr Petersons thought of me were rustles from under its cover.  
"I don't. Think..." He pauses again to consider his words, which makes me even more paranoid.  
"You weren't. Sent here?"  
He knows I'm not answering that and continues;   
"No? So why..."  
I swear he laughs a little.  
"Why'd you come here?"  
That doesn't answer me on why he said it was 'nice' to see me. --- But if I slow down a little I guess it makes sense he'd be wondering why I came here--at all.  
I Know why--- But-- Do I--- Do I really just---  
"...I've been...Doing alot of thinking."  
He looks pensive again but I continue unsurely;  
"And I.. Don't wanna live in the past."  
My words sound weird even to me. I try to make more sense of it, "I thought that. Coming here. Would fix---"  
Fix what? ...... I don't want to admit how much my life has felt burdened by the past. And I don't want to admit how bad it got for me. Especially not to him.  
Mr. Peterson growls a little, and I'm surprised that doesn't make me flinch. Maybe this IS doing something for me. It's not for him though. My fleeting immunity must be wearing off as I get a bad feeling about this.  
He seems troubled. Increasingly so. By something...Unrelated to what I said.  
Like he's struggling internally with himself.  
I might have double voices in My head but Thank God I don't have it this bad.  
Out of nowhere I do the most same thing and get up, I'm going to leave.  
A bang hits the table a grip grasps my arm hard.  
I stiffen up backwards-surprisingly- guarded, not that afraid.  
The action had already drawn staffs attention, and I look directly into Mr Petersons eyes that stare at me wildly, grip viced on my arms. He opens his mouth but barely any sound comes out.  
It's like my brain detached itself from my body. As I see the staff come up to us, straight but cautiously removing Mr Peterson back from me. And he struggles to keep from throwing a violent fit.  
I feel like I'm just watching these things at a distance, even though it's Right in front of me.  
I jerk when a hand taps my shoulder-- It's one of the staff ushering me to leave.

\------

I feel like I tripped and am still free-falling backwards off a mountain.  
Ever since I got back from the mental hospital I've just felt so out of it. To be honest I'm surprised I even made it home.  
Did I ever leave in the first place?  
Maybe that was just a dream?  
The whole experience felt surreal enough to have been a dream I've had plenty of them.  
Laying on the couch I turn my arm up to view, and can make out faintly where pressure marks were made.  
From Mr Petersons grip.  
What the hell did I even say?  
That led to that? I just don't know what happened.  
Or why I didn't seem to care about him grabbing me.  
Maybe I've re-imagined it so many times in my nightmares they got me attuned to it?  
\---- That can't be it Nick.-----  
"Hhhhh..."   
I sigh raggedly.  
Why NOT? I WENT there. I MET him. I TALKED to him.  
I conquered my fear didn't I? I'm done with it.  
.............So why do I feel like THIS???  
I'm getting tired.  
This was Supposed to solve my problems once and for all. Yet now I find this big Gnawing thing on my chest. Lightness in my head. It's like Fear just swapped with a buddy.  
I let out a groan and feel no motivation to get up from this couch.  
What was Left? Why? What could you Possibly want from me now? I did the thing. Why can't I get forwards?  
If I'm not scared of him anymore than WHAT is This? This is confidence, isn't it? Why doesn't it feel like what Confidence should? Cause I don't know what that is?  
UGH.  
...It's not a good feeling.  
I reach for the remote and turn on the old t.v. trying for distraction.  
Admittedly it started to work. A good hour into a C.S.I run and I was feeling calmer.  
\---Then it hit me. So hard I shot up.  
He's Deaf.  
I run it back in my head and replay the question the clerk had stopped to ask me while leading me in.  
*"You're-- Also aware that Mr. Peterson is deaf?"*  
I'd sat up so fast my vision keeps spinning in splotches for a few moments as I blank in realisation.  
He didn't get upset by what I said.  
But by not understanding WHAT was said in the first place.  
He isn't the type to admit if he didn't get something.  
That figures.  
And I wasn't scared, because he wasn't angry at me.  
When I suddenly got up to just leave---Maybe he'd wanted me to stay.  
I try not to choke on the thought but it made perfect sense. THAT'S why I felt so horrible. Because...  
"Hhhhh....."  
\-- Nicky puts his head in his hands, no longer interested in how the episode turned out. And just sits. For a few moments that felt like they weighed 60 pounds he just sits in that position.--  
".....I gotta go back don't I?"  
I ask the voice in my head.  
".....I gotta go back."  
And do it again.


	2. Train Tracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his initial attempt to confront Mr Peterson and his fears went sour, and he realised what the reason may have been, Nicky makes a second attempt, that may prove more fruitful.

Nicky waited a few days before heading back out.  
To be sure it was really what he needed to do.  
\---I know he's probably thinking worse of his situation now. He probably hasn't had many visitors. Mr Peterson was a private man even back when I knew him. He couldn't've had many friends. If any at all.  
I'm nervous about going back there.  
Because of how badly things had turned before I left the first time.  
So I'm both scared and proud of myself for returning to the Mental hospital.  
I won't let the same thing happen twice.----  
But when I get there, the staff aren't as quick to let me inside. I make sure they know I understand Mr Petersons... Condition.  
It's not normal for people to start clawing at their face.  
Or fight with themselves, or grab other people so viciously.  
There's reason he's still in this hospital.  
I get it. It makes me feel good that I get it. That I know this. I feel better being validated.  
Validated that I'm not that far off the edge that I'd act that way. Validated that the 'monster' my child brain had perceived is in fact a 'mentally Ill challenged man.'  
Maybe I feel better because I'm 'better' than him.  
(That's not saying much but I'll take it.)  
And it takes some convincing, and more serious questioning for them to let me in to see him a second time. Something tells me it's not just because my safety is the highest concern.  
I fill out some documents and agree that I understand the conditions and variable possibilities of meeting with one of these patients.  
I feel more like an adult doing this.  
And after I sign the last paper I'm told to wait and then to come.  
I fully expect Mr Peterson to be less likely to want to meet with me after how we'd left things (again) last time. That's understandable. I came here out of nowhere and brought a bunch of stress with me.  
I'm in the better position.  
By the look in his eyes I see he hadn't expected me back. And it's humbling--In a weird way, to see him show actual signs of hurt and emotion.  
\---This isn't any easier for him than it is you, Nicky.---  
Before I linger on nothing for too long, I pull out a paper from my pocket and set it on the table towards Mr Peterson.  
Moments later I'm scared he'll break down after reading it.  
'I know we got off on the wrong stitch. I'm sorry for that. But I want to make it better and try this again.'  
He doesn't look at me, and just looks hard at the space beside the table. As the silence continues I start feeling nervous, that this was still the wrong decision, but then he finally questions;  
"Why?"  
I go to answer but stop my tongue, pulling out another sheet and writing down what I should've said.  
I might know what I'm doing here, but he definately doesn't, and it's important he gets that message clear.  
I hand him the page after I've written it down.  
And he doesn't seem as upset about it as when I terribly tried to give a crude talking explanation before.  
So that's noted in mind.  
'I want to move on, and I feel like this is the only way I'm going to. It's not that I blame you for it, it's just that I've never found closure.'  
I feel like his wonder definately decreases, replaced with something like...Amusement?  
"You grown up haven't you?"  
Part of me wants to agree with that. But the other isn't convinced it's true. Alot might've changed, but, I'm still here learning, and trying to get a start.  
Mr Petersons tone seems different towards me now.  
The opposite of what it was initially. But that makes me more nervous.  
"Sorry I, wasn't clear before." I say and quickly remember to write it down.  
Though at that point I'm questioning why I'M apologising. I wonder if that's what I'd like from him. An apology. But I don't think that's it.  
It seems like neither of us know what to continue with or how to/If to approach a topic. It feels like every question is the wrong one.  
\----God I don't want a repeat of last time....  
After we'd both been silent for minutes I flinch when Mr Peterson speaks.  
"Things don't. Always go as you expected. And even when your visions spinning. The world is ignorant."  
"......................"  
Where did that come from. Just as I'm trying to analyse it he continues;  
" When you want it to stop. It goes. And when you want to go. It stops. And breaks down."  
"......."  
"The train's not yours....Well...It Is. But you didn't make the tracks. And you inherited the train... So it's a matter of riding and hoping the switches will work when... A divergence comes."  
Seriously, WHAT???  
My bewilderment must be obvious on my face because Mr Peterson tips a finger at me.  
" Your train led you here."  
I vaguely want to dismiss this talk of train's and switches as crazy talk but something tells me he's inferred my life hasn't been such a 'good ride', he wouldn't be wrong.  
"Take what you see as a warning, Nicholas."  
I squint my eyes trying to understand his words. Whether this was a wisely warning or a Threat.  
Mr Petersons voice is devoid of such things as proper tones and emotives. So it's hard for me to tell.  
...Warily I take the note, and pause pen to paper, glancing to him again debating. Before writing.  
'Is that a Threat?'  
He sniffs at the words I show him, and then laughs.  
"Maybe. Huh huh..."  
He still chuckles, and I KNOW my defense goes on edge. Teetering towards disbelief that I might've been convincing myself of something I shouldn't have been.  
He interrupts before I can finish sorting that out.  
"From Life."  
"............"  
It's a 'Threat'-- (possibly) -- From Life, why I came here.  
Mr Peterson knows that I've been through deep pits on my 'train ride' Maybe that's not surprising. I do look pretty shifty. So people have said.  
And why wouldn't he be able to recognise that in a person? He looks like he could read through your skin with that stare of his.  
I settle down. At least aggressively. Putting my hands on the tabletop comfortably.  
"I see."  
"...Hmm..."  
Mr Peterson turns his head from me curiously pensive. Twirling a corner of his mustache. Like he was still in deep thoughts.  
And genuinely, I wonder, what kind of thoughts?  
\----

\----

I hadn't intended to make multiple visits. When I came up with this idea-- Of meeting and mending things with Mr Peterson after my Dream of Realisation.  
I had thought I'd go there once, and get it all over with, and then I'd leave without looking back.  
The endings you see in movies.  
That first visit didn't go well. And I ended up leaving things in a bad state. Worse than when I'd gone there.  
When I realised my mistake, I went back to try things again a second time. The new approach was much more effective. And that meeting was more conductive.  
Now I'm planning a 3rd trip to the mental hospital.  
For reasons I didn't expect.  
\--- When I went home after that last meeting, I thought about what Mr Peterson had said to me.  
While I played the t.v. in the background.  
Because he so rarely speaks.. It's like his words were some sort of priveledge.  
A weird..Gift, to me.  
\--- Kinda. Uhm............Anyway.  
I thought about what was said. About his talk of 'trains', and 'spinning vision', -- About the 'train' being your 'inheritance', but that while You ride it, you didn't 'make the tracks'. So sometimes your train goes to places you don't want to. Sometimes the switches work, and sometimes they break.  
About his advising me to: 'Take what you see as a warning.' ---- I assume he means the mental hospital and the patients there.  
Because he knows I'm not the picture of average or sanity. Whether I've said it or not. And because he knows I've always been wandering in life. I was doing it even back then as a kid. And I'd make bad decisions.  
I take a chunk out of the apple I've been holding while lost in these thoughts again. Analysing.  
Pensive, slightly curious, and troubled.  
I hate to think that Mr Peterson may be more similar to me than I'd like to admit. -- He probably understands you. Or could. Not like everybody else.--  
Great. A guy deemed 'Insane' thinks you're an okay guy and understands you. Congrats Nick.  
.................................  
But is he though?  
\-- He's got some issues. --  
I leave the topic/debate at that because I don't dare cross into the path of reasoning out someone else's sanity and how that's perceived. That's Probably another case for Bad Wandering.  
Avoid.  
Back to the other side of it though---  
I know he's intelligent. And I know he knows--- Or at least, Infers, and understands me. Why I ended up going there even.  
And frankly with nothing else but a worn old house and a scrap budget the prospect of understanding was good and tempting. Ironic considering I spent 20 years of my life fearing, having nightmares and being confused by the memory and thought of that man, and what happened to me as a kid. -------- Between the other things that came up.  
Oh yeah, what did he say?  
*' That things don't always go as you expected.'*  
I'd have to agree with that.  
...................... Vaguely I watch scenes on the old television screen. Slowly chewing the apple.  
And for a second I wonder what my reaction would be if suddenly a kid started breaking into my house.  
God knows I look suspicious.  
What if some Neighbourhood kid saw me pull up to this old house and thinks I stole it. What if they think I'm hiding and storing something in the boxes I took from my car and carried in?  
And they start thinking I need to be watched.  
That there's Definately something in here.  
............The thought makes my gut wrench and I honestly get up to check outside the house because now I'm paranoid.  
Flippin' Great.  
Always gotta be something.  
But seriously, are there still kids in this Neighbourhood? On this street?  
Are there any that would pull a Nicky Roth?  
Yeah I'm calling it that because why not. Who's gonna judge me. Myself? Am I gonna get Karma'd by my past actions?  
And that's enough thinking on that Nick. Good night.  
\------  
I dream of trains and of passing through cities and fields. The city I used to live in. The cities I lived in as a child. The hills and woods of Raven Brooks. The people I meet, droves of them there as I pass by.  
Watching.  
In my dream it's not concrete. Pieces go from one time in the past to another more recent to another further back. So I don't know what's coming. It's like I'm seeing things again, on an old motion-picture. It's not all idyllic, but I feel calm watching it go by.  
Until I see a dark boy in the caves. Turning his head at me angrily and growling.  
The boy was Aaron.  
I reel at the glare he'd given me. And even though the train doesn't stop and had soon passed him I feel sick.  
My hand slides from the sill, and I turn away from the windows as we continue through the dark tunnel.  
Sliding off the red seat and positioning myself on the floor of the train, knees up close to my chest.  
........I never had learned what happened to Aaron Peterson. I assume after his dad-- Theodore, got arrested, the police found him and took him in for a little while. Then what? His dad was sent to the facility. But what happened to Aaron? Where did he end up?  
I'd wanted my parents to take him in, but they couldn't, they wouldn't... and... In an equivalent youth centre?  
He wasn't old enough to live on his own. I guess an orphanage would've been the systems answer.  
\---He wouldn't've made it in an orphanage.---  
Look at Me. And I wasn't the kid dealing with family trauma on top of it.  
I sheer away from thinking about it.  
He's been out of my life for so long, and I'd never had any info on where he went. There's no chance I'd find him, or anything good.  
\--  
When I wake up I briefly reflect on the thoughts of my dream, but I move on from them as I get up and make a light breakfast. Toast.  
The newspaper still delivers----Well, actually, I took one of the neighbours papers and mentally promised to put it back once I was done reading it.  
Or really, skimming through the it. I put my finger on one of the ad boxes in the backs of the paper. Asking for carriers in the Raven Brooks area. That seems like a good thing to mark. I could deliver papers. Definately.  
\----  
After making out my plan and getting ready I get into my car and head for the library. Not to read books but for browsing information. There's a few things I want to check and see about. After that, I think I'll head up to the mental hospital. Just because.  
I can tell my theory is working. Because I don't feel as consumed by fear or paralysis at the thought of going there. Which is Great. Seriously. No sarcasm.  
While on my way there I try and think of somethings to go there For. To say or do. It's alot easier if I have an idea of what I'm going to do or say in advance.  
It's not like I don't have alot of questions. I do.  
I usually do.  
But they're not always good.  
Like--- I noticed Mr.Peterson still wearing gloves. I don't think that's a normal part of your wardrobe. So is there a reason for wearing them? Probably a stupid question.  
\--- But I also notice he's not in a 'uniform', The clothes look like ones he'd choose to wear. So I wonder-- Do they let him leave the hospital? With supervision? Alone? Does he have the option to purchase things? At a store? Can he get paid? Do they give him jobs? Or does he get a disabilities check? Or something like that? That he can access? Or they control?  
Their all questions I can easily think of, and get curious about, but they're not things that would be good to ask. Plus, I'm bad at being social.  
Other things I wonder but feel even less certain of asking are; Will they ever release him? And if they did, then what? He doesn't have a house to return to. It's burned down. He doesn't have anybody-- At least I doubt it. And no real income-- I also doubt. So what would he do if they told him he was going to be released? Would they?  
I have enough trouble myself. So I can't imagine he'd make a smooth transition out of it.  
And Other questions. Like Aaron.  
Does he know what happened to his son? Does he know where he is? If I still think of My past does that mean he still thinks about His? Does Mr Peterson still have dreams about what things were? Or could've been? Have nightmares about his wife dying in that accident? Burying his daughter? Kidnapping a kid?  
Does he think about that? Or is that all behind him?  
I'd be scared to ask. And I wouldn't. I know I wouldn't want to talk about my darkest times, so I wouldn't go there in asking him of his.  
So what should I go there for then?


	3. A New Start?

I get out of the car and take a deep breath. Waiting just a moment before going to the front doors and into the mental facility. I'm still anxious, but it's nowhere near Day 1 visit anxiety.  
The reception keeps a note of patients visitors apparently, and maybe remarks from that visit. I assume this because the staff member looks at a file when I say why I'm here. She seems bemused. The look on her face gets to me and I have to ask;  
"Something wrong?"  
The pause before she answers makes my pulse increase. Then she just tries to dismiss it.  
"No."  
I'm not convinced honestly.  
"Are you sure?"  
As if something occurs to her she gets surprised, and then unsure "Oh-! It's just...."  
Just what?  
"I'm sorry.." She suddenly apologises hesitantly, which both confuses and worries me more.  
"What are you talking about?"  
Seriously Lady, get it out or stop this  
"I was just, surprised."  
"By What?"  
She seems Very embarrassed, probably from being so unprofessional. But somehow she's persuaded to answer me.  
" Theodore isn't a social patient, from what I've heard."  
.............I stare at her blank. And suddenly realise I'd gotten tense and drop it. Thinking something serious had happened.  
I feel unimpressed with this particular receptionist and give her no comment. Returning to my reason for being here and getting clear for visiting.  
I can't believe that she's judging patients at a mental hospital. Or people for visiting them. Like, that's not right.  
I wait to get called by the staff.  
But like.... Wtf? The guy's deaf of top of it, ~No~ I guess he wouldn't be that 'social'.  
\----- It didn't occur to me at the time I was angry about her unprofessionalism, that maybe she was questioning who I was. (She hadn't been working the last times I was here) and why I only started coming Now. Why on top that, the socially null Theodore Peterson would have been noted to actually Talk to me-- Some suspicious looking guy that suddenly started showing up. ---  
The staff called me when they had someone to lead me to where I was going. We pass and see some other patients on the way. One man, his head turned sideways, arms bent and raised, disoriented.  
We get to the room and I audibly say, "Oh." Kind of surprised for some reason to see Mr Peterson was watching t.v. instead of at that table.  
I'm not sure, but the staff apparently think it's okay and I go over. As if I'm being cautious.  
My movement or my nervousness must be obvious in my aura or something because Mr Peterson turns his head around attentively, then recognises it's 'just' me and not a Threat. And then puts his attention back to the television.  
I sit down on the other seat left of him, looking down. And then glance from the television to Mr Peterson to the television again. The sound is off.  
And for a moment I wonder just what on earth he's watching. By design it looks like it could be a kids show. And the colourful characters move their arms and hands around making faces and shapes.  
I stare at the screen dumbfounded by what I'm looking at. Then glance back at Mr Peterson who at least seems interested in it. Not full-blown confused like me.  
"Uh..." I scratch my head awkwardly and guess I'll wait.  
The fact they're allowed to use the t.v. makes me wonder if there are any restrictions to that though. You'd think some programming they wouldn't want certain patients viewing in case it triggered them. Or patients who have audio sensitivity.  
.......It feels like he's reluctant to acknowledge me for some reason now. Weird, considering last time--I thought--- Went okay.  
After awhile he decides to--I think debatably, turn off the t.v. and look at me.  
I don't know why I feel nervous again.  
He just stares. And stares. Before taking a step backwards and stretching.  
.....I get the feeling maybe he doesn't want to speak today. Pretty Ironic considering that's what the lady had commented about earlier.  
I let out a breath looking aside at the R&M room. I feel obligated to wait. Though I don't know for what.  
Mr Peterson doesn't seem to feel self-conscious about doing these kinesthetics rght in front of me. (Practically)  
but for me it's kindof awkard.  
After a few minutes he finally stops and I sense he's staring again, am I the one who has the uncomfortable aura? then he says;  
"Could you leave? Please?"  
"...?" I look at him genuinely confused. Maybe. And though I Am, confused, I get up Warily. "Uh....I Guess.."  
I just agree. Starting to feel like his gaze might belie something more this time.  
I go to leave, and he stays exactly where he is.  
"Uh...Bye?" I awkwardly put up a hand, and continue out the door when there's still no response.  
Maybe his moods vary. And he just wasn't in a good one today.  
I don't think it's my fault. I didn't Do anything.  
He just felt... Empty.  
I'll come back another day.  
Though I ask myself why.  
\-----  
|| The New Start? ||

I give the newspaper a call and ask about the carrier routes they have available in the Raven Brooks area.  
Hopefully I can get setup with a job quickly to get some money.  
The house hasn't been maintained either. So it's not just weathered LOOKING.  
The taps barely work. And I'm kind of concerned the lighting hookup will explode one of these times I flip the switch.  
"Heh..."  
Maybe I'll take a go at fixing it myself sometime.  
I avoid looking across the street as much as I can though. Even if I am getting stronger and dealing with my past, seeing some burnt ruins isn"'t giving me good feelings.  
I don't even think about why it's like that.  
\----When I take a walk around the old neighbourhood it kind of seems like alot has changed. But at the same time---Like it's not.  
I guess with the things that went on here, and then the fire, and our house being abandoned. The neighbourhood's gonna take a hit.  
I realise I should also do something about the boards. On, the windows. Of my house. If I'm going to be living here (again) I should probably take those off. It's a good thing the house was never sold.  
I've noticed there Are kids on this street. Next door and across from that. Or at least I saw a swing in the yard next-door and saw a boy on his bike from across left.  
The school's still down the main Street. ---- Though I never liked school.  
I work my way around getting readjusted and overall I'd say it's going pretty well. So far. Maybe someday I'll...Meet my new neighbours.  
...I swallow anxiously at the thought, and leave it at a 'maybe'.  
I just don't want them thinking I came here and moved in to the abandoned house.---- Even though, I did, I don't want them thinking I burgled it and am trespassing.  
I could explain I moved back in. I have they key to prove it's mine. I just don't want any trouble. Not here.  
____

On the 18th, I decided to head to the mental hospital. It's been a few days, and I hope it'll be a little more worth my while. The hospital is outside of Raven Brooks, so driving all the way there to be told; "can you leave?" After nothing but silence, then coming all the way back, well. In that case I might as well have not even gone.  
I'm about to get my keys when it occurs to me I could probably call there. Yeah, they should have a phone number. If I call there maybe they could tell me whether or not a visit seemed like a good idea.  
It'd save wasting another trip if the answer was no.  
\-- Only problem is I don't have their phone number.---  
Nor a phone book.  
"Hmm...."  
I rest my head on my hand.  
.............. I could always ask one of the neighbours......  
The thought makes me uneasy, I get really awkward with people-- Have I mentioned it?  
Breathe in and out.  
\--- You just knock on the door, ask them if they have a phone book you could borrow.---  
It SOUNDED simple.  
Hhhh...... I don't want to waste a drive so I do it.  
\---' ey.....' A thought hits me on the street.  
I don't know these people, so I.... Probably shouldn't make this phone call in their house. Yeah, some guys moved in to the abandoned house and now he's calling a mental hospital. HMMMM....  
Probably not the kind of image I want.  
I'll just make a note of it.  
\----  
Nicky goes up to one of the homes and tentatively knocks on the door.  
The woman that answers seems equally wary of him.  
"Hi-?"  
"Hey, I just, wanted to know if I could, uh, borrow a telephone book? I just moved back in recently and I...Need to make a call. -- I have my own phone."  
I add the last part in case she thinks I want to 'come in' and use hers. And that I'm lying and actually a thief.  
She looks at me a few moments and then turns;  
"Yes, I have one, just a second."  
She leaves.  
I worry she's phoning the cops on me, especially as it takes her more than 3 seconds to come back with the book. Which I'm a little relieved to see when she does.  
I take it from her and quickly flip through it right there on her front step.  
She's probably not that suspicious, but I can't help being paranoid.  
\------ "Thank you." I hand her back the book after I've found it and written it down.  
"-H-ave a good day-"  
I add awkwardly going to leave.  
"You too." She replies and shuts the door.  
*Relief sigh  
I take the number back to my house and make the phone call.  
\------- "-----Reception speaking, how can I help you?"  
I think it's the guy I spoke to before.  
"Uh, yeah, I was wondering if you could tell me whether or not.... I should visit."  
That sounded wrong.  
"Pardon?" The man asks, "who might I be speaking to?"  
(Oops.) "Nicholas Roth."  
They have a record of me coming now.  
"Oh, yes." He remembers, "you're calling about Mr Peterson?" He assumes, which makes this easier.  
"Yeah, I was wondering if it seems--Good to visit or not?"  
I decide to explain because it still didn't sound right, and I think this guy is good at his job;  
"I was there the other day but he didn't want me to be there."  
"I see."  
Was this really as briiliant of an idea as I'd thought?  
"I just don't want to drive there for nothing."  
He understands right?  
"Oh of course, just give me a minute."  
He puts me on hold while, I guess, he goes to check. I don't know actually.  
I wait until he comes back on the line;  
"I think it'd be okay."  
As okay as you can get, in a relative sense.  
"Thanks, I'll, head over."  
\-------  
So I guess I'm going then.  
Hopefully he doesn't blank out in the time it takes for me to get there.  
... That reminds me, I wonder why he excercises when he starts blanking out? That seems.... Contradictory. To me, anyway.  
\-------  
I get to the hospital, go in, register, and wait for somebody to come get me, then we go into the facility. Why does this process now make me less anxious than simply asking somebody if I could use their phone book?  
Well, at least I'm killing some of my fears gradually by coming here. ---------  
"Hello."  
Weird feeling to be relieved he said something.  
"Hello." I repeat.  
Mr Peterson stares at me and then, more insistently;  
'HelLO!"  
Which creeps me out not just because of his tone but because He already said that. And gives me a strange look.  
"Uh..."  
I'm not repeating myself.  
He must see my confusion and chuckles. Maybe he thinks this is funny.  
I'm not sure but at least it's kind of better than the ominous empty and dangerous aura.  
\--------------------  
Either way it is he's got a weird sense of 'humour'. And it feels like I'm treading on ice trying to speak with him. After getting through the awkward introductory it becomes a matter of: Which things can I say that'll cause the least amount of explosion? Which ones will make me slip backwards, or lead to stares of death and potentially cold thoughts? I still don't know.  
I get a brilliant idea. And hope it Actually is; passing the note to Mr Peterson;  
'I have no idea what to actually talk about.'  
His response is quite simple,  
'It's overrated."  
I wonder then if it's even possible to make smooth ground with him. Though I'm definitely closer to this than ever.  
I consider it before writing a question, really consider.  
'So what do you think of me coming here?'  
I pray this isn't one of those triggers. Which I worry it is, when his expression blankens. Not all the way to being empty, but he stays quiet.   
I realise he may actually be thinking about it as he puts his hand up. "...................." He sighs raggedly, "Strange."  
\----I'm still above water, I think.  
And wonder if he's struggling for an answer not because of the question but because it's harder for him to speak and he doesn't regularly. So finding the right words might be frustrating.  
I remember there've been times where I got so dizzy and disoriented that even my ears felt like they shut off. And I could barely hear things going on and it was WEIRD trying to talk. I imagine that on a 24/7 scale and-- That's alot.  
Learning relativity. I see.  
So I try a simpler question,  
'Do you mind?'  
Mr Peterson thinks about it and seems vaguely surprised to admit, "No."  
Progress? Maybe?  
Advice will tell you that simple questions are a better way to start off. Something about building some bases. My psychiatrists did that with me. I think.  
And I like that I'm not currently strangled with fear or anxiety, with something that used to cause it highly.  
Trying another question, that's simple but also useful enough; ' Do you prefer I write?'  
The response isn't expected.  
"You have the nose of Pinocchio."  
Mr Peterson says, pointing to his own.  
\-----"what?" Am I not getting something here? How did he get that from.....??? "I don't--"  
"And consistent not."  
He's speaking backwards  
"It grew an inch or two with every lie he spoke."  
.................  
I'm not sure, but, does he think I'm lying about things alot? That I'm suspicious? I honestly can't tell.  
"Uhm.. No." Baffled I almost forget to write this down,  
'I'm a pretty bad liar actually.'  
"Are you lying now?"  
.......................I rest my head on my hand in a gesture I think he'd understand.  
I don't know how we got to this subject but I'm not all that for it...  
\---------  
I officially start newspaper delivery today. They arrived at my house-- which I've almost gotten all of the boards off, and I've spent at least the last hour sorting flyers into the papers and bundling them up.  
I didn't realise you actually had to pack them individually yourself, surprise.  
I have a new look on young paperboys then.  
After getting it all sorted, I load them up and head out to deliver. Yeah, it's a job kids can do. But it's a job I can do. So for now that's what matters.

Still on my list of to dos: finish taking off the boards on the windows of the house. Get the lighting fixed. Get the taps fixed. There's not even a refridgerator so none of that food for Awhile.  
More micro-managing steps.

\------------

At the facility, Mr Peterson finally asks me a question. Though he seemed unsure of it.  
"Do you, still.. Work machines?"  
......... There's an emptiness in MYSELF now. He knows I used to take things apart and put together these gadgets, pick locks.  
I feel ashamed that didn't stay, now that somebody mentions it. After my experiences I stopped doing those things, I just couldn't be interested in anything. And I never became the engineer I wanted to as a kid.  
I look down, not meeting his gaze and want to lie, but I can't; "No, I gave it up."  
"Hmm..."  
I Hope he doesn't ask me about what I ended up doing then. Because I don't want to admit it, much less to him.  
"That's too bad." Mr Peterson says.  
At first I wonder why until I remember HE was an engineer. Maybe that's why I didn't go through with it.  
"Mm." I shrug, like it doesn't really matter to me even though it does.  
Mr Peterson contemplates something in the quiet. Drumming his fingers on the table before he speaks,  
"You're always, the curious type."  
Not sure if that's a question, and while I'd say no, that's Definitely not the truth. I've always had too many questions. He doesn't wait for me to reply anyways;  
"Would you like to see something?"  
I get a little nervous and uneasy about this question. It could be anything. Particularly, I fear, anything disturbing. It's this that makes me realise I'm still scared of him. But I don't want to be.  
For all I know I could say 'sure' and he'll pull his shirt off. So I ask, suspicious,  
"Like what?"  
"Mm...."  
Mr Peterson considers it, and makes gestures with his hands that don't make alot of sense to me. It's difficult for him to explain, and I wonder why. Then he says; "Models."  
".....'Models'?"  
He nods slightly.  
I'm still suspicious, but reluctantly agree. Hoping he's just offering to show me something out of consideration and not some kind of disturbing horror.  
He gets up, and notions for me to come.  
My nerves start going overdrive, and I move slowly.  
This is asking for a different level of trust and I'm not there yet. The point was overcoming my fears but I'm not at this one yet. And anyway--  
"It's...Okay? For me to leave?" (With him?) I write down the clearer version of this question and show him. He doesn't seem to see why it Wouldn't be okay for me to go with him.  
I'm uneasy. I say we ask the staff. Mr Peterson isn't impressed but he doesn't say anything.  
So I ask the staff man around the R&M room if what he's suggesting is even allowed. When the man thinks about it, he unfortunately says 'yes'.  
I'm scared.  
As Mr.Peterson nods and seems strangely, happy. About this...  
\----You told yourself you were getting over this Nicky. You thought you Were. Get ahold of yourself.---  
The voice says to me.  
But...  
\---He's not gonna hurt you and If he Does try to, push him down and Run. Give it a chance. That's how you get stronger.---  
The voice is very compelling, because I do listen to it, instead of backing out and saying I had to go.


	4. Caution. Unsteady Road Ahead

I hope he doesn't notice my nervousness.  
Professionals say that if people who could intend/bring you harm see that you're afraid or uncertain they'll feel more assured and will more likely act on their impulses/plans.  
I try to focus on other things as I walk with Mr Peterson.  
Like.... The fact that he's shorter than I remember, or at least, that I'm surprised to see he's shorter than Me. Either he's shrunk or I became giant. Oh well, that makes me a little more relieved in my chances if things don't go well.  
We stop at a door he chooses. And he looks back at me with this off grin, holding the handle to it.  
"Here we are."  
I prepare myself like he's about to show me a compartment full of bodies.  
And turn my head slightly.  
He opens the door just a smidge and gestures that I go in first.  
I don't.  
No way man.  
Mr. Peterson seems mildly disappointed when I don't go in or even budge, but then shakes his head with a wry chuckle and goes in. I'm still reserved on my trusting but catch a glimpse of what's in it. Taking a step forwards I enter just to the doorway and feel my eyes widen.  
Mr Peterson doesn't say a thing, looking at me expectantly as I take in the room full of toys and model homes, little handmade dolls and things.  
I'm blank.  
In shock.  
Mr Peterson smiles anyway, the movement catches my eye and I turn to him as he looks aside,  
"They go to them."  
He says simply, without context.  
I grasp to find words, having not expected this, luckily I have to write my thoughts anyway because I doubt my mouth could form coherant words.  
'You made all this?'  
He nods, smiling, but at the same time seems... Melancholic.  
"For the children, I did. They send them out."  
I assume he means the hospital staff. Sends the toys out.  
Mr Peterson pauses for a long time. Staring not at me, before admitting sadly;  
"I wish I could see them."  
It makes me shiver.  
Some might take it as a tragic innocence.  
I take it as more wtf.  
This is the part of Mr Peterson that always disturbed me when I was a kid. His eccentric fascination with kids. Things that are associated with children.  
I suddenly feel very uncomfortable. Chilled. Uneasy.  
Taking careful breaths to try not to freak out.  
He probably sees my discomfort, and suddenly it's like he regrets showing this to me. Though he'd seemed proud of his work earlier.  
"It's....mm..." He grasps his right wrist, looking towards the floor and suddenly apologises curtly,  
"Sorry." He reaches a hand to move me out from the room and I jag backwards so fast at the motion of him going to touch me.  
And just leave the room myself. He sighs heavily and mumbles, dropping his hand and follows me out. I don't care if he's offended by my reaction. He shouldn't be touching me for Any reason. I don't care what the intention is. I can walk out of a room myself.

\------------------

When Nicky returns home that evening, his thoughts are filled with new and old conflicting feelings.  
\--- I turn on the TV for background, but I dig out my old newspaper copy. THAT newspaper copy. --  
He collapses back on the couch and reads the article tagline;  
'Legelad Calol Hopediapep Retrased Refta Panedpikd Yod (12) Secapes.'  
The article of Mr Theodore Peterson's arrest.  
I think about what he showed to me today. His collection of children's toys that he'd hand-crafted while in the prison/mental hospital.  
They were very well made. That I can admit.  
He says 'they' (assumably the staff arrange) give them out. Probably to charities or to needy kids.  
I imagine the poor kids who's families don't have much money. Or who live in orphanages when they have none.  
How they'd feel when they get their own toy.  
It's that kind of thing that end up in the 'goodfeels' or 'heartwarming' or 'faithinhumanity' section.  
I don't know if it Would mind you-- Or if it Has, but the point is-- I don't know how to feel about it.  
°--But you don't need to feel anything about it. He's not harming anyone or in the range of these kids. He's giving anonymous gifts for them to enjoy. Right?--°  
.................I see the way he looked. And how long of a pause it was before he finally said he: 'wished he could see them'.  
The fear and disgust that had washed up in me after he'd said that was real.  
MAYBE I'm overreacting. (Wouldn't be first) and his intent really is pure and kind and innocent.  
And he wants to see that look of happiness that would light up a child's face. Because that's one of the most satisfiying things in the world. The innocent happiness of a little boy or a little girl.  
He just wants to see them be happy and have fun.  
...............................................Yet I can't quite accept that.  
That that's all there is. That there isn't anything dark, or suspicious, hidden in these desires.  
It's not like it Matters-Matters right now because he's in there. But....  
°--Give it a Rest, Nicky.--°  
My voice sighs.  
.....I put the paper down and look at the tv, I just can't get my mind off it. That's always the worst.  
"HHHH....."  
I put my head back on the couch cushions and hands over my face.  
Why did I Bother going there?  
\--To set things straight. To get stronger.--  
It's not working right now.  
\-- Give it a chance, you're Just---For  
I'm not in the mood to be arguing with myself and reasoning. It's not going to help with this.  
I'm just....Angry, right now. That's all it is at this point is anger. I think. Angry at this house with barely functioning utilities, that I have to move back into after everything I went through to get into that apartment. Angry at my parents for not understanding when I was still suffering after what I went through.  
Angry at HIM for doing this to me. Forget creating 'understanding'. I Kinda-- Just want to punch him in the face.  
I recall my dream. Where I beat him down to his knees. If my dream gives me guidance Do I do THAT for real???  
°--- You'll get arrested you weirdo.---Stop thinking about this. You DON'T want to be that guy who let's his feelings get the best of him and then gets arrested with a thing written up in the paper saying:  
'Nam Retrased rof Teebing Tallymen ill Payshunt'  
(Man arrested for beating mentally Ill patient)  
Because that's what would happen Nicky. That isn't the definition of strength. That's becoming a criminal yourself.-- That's becoming more like the person you didn't want to be°  
.................Once again my voice softens my anger with it's reasoning. Your right.  
That isn't it. This isn't what I want and it's not the answer.  
If there is anything to thank, I thank it that it stopped me from doing something stupid.

\------ I make my brain rest for a day.  
I'm worn out from how I was feeling yesterday. And I purposefully try and get lost wandering in the outside air. Hoping it'll clear my head of any negative that remains.  
I think of birds. That chirp and caw in the trees. I'm aware of my footsteps in the grass and on the pavement. The rustle of leaves.  
And I let my mind relax, with these sounds in focus.  
I don't care that's all that I do today.  
I ride this cloud of relaxation back to a state the feels right. That feels calm. And I accept it.  
\----------  
I dream of lying atop a soft sea, the caressing ripples of the waves that move slowly on this clear day. My serenity is kept from perfection only by the being that lurks beneath the surface.  
He's there. And like my anxiety, only distanced away by layers of translucent waters.  
\-------  
I wake with a deep inhale of breath, like I'd been holding it while I slept. And breathe levelly back out, and again.  
Light coming in from outside tells me I slept all the way through. After I take my next few breaths I get up knowing I'm awake, that I have things to do today and places to be.  
And that I'm not scared by them.

\-------

\--It's not like he's pressed me for personal info---  
Nicky realises in his assessment of Mr Peterson.  
\--- He didn't ask me about where I live. Or about what I've been doing, my current job, If I live with somebody, Anything.  
I'M coming Here to ask Him things and try to make conversation. I have to acknowledge that at least, what he hasn't asked.  
Sure he's made the odd comment here and there but what do you expect?  
I think he decided to show me his work not just out of pride in his crafts, but in case I had a kid by now. He probably would've given me something if I made any reference to having a son or daughter.  
But he doesn't ask.  
Maybe he's not as creepy as I thought.  
Or at the very least, he's learned to control that creepiness more.  
\--------------  
It had taken me a long time to realise what was happening when I was young.  
I remember feeling so bad and to blame for months that I'd let Mya Peterson down, when I couldn't 'understand' or give her the help she wanted.  
It took me forever to realise the reason she'd refused me suggesting the police and said I was 'just like everybody else' and 'didn't understand' was because it had been Him-- Her father, that needed the (mental) help.  
How would I--- A 12 year old with a sane family--- Realise Mya didn't come to me because she was scared of her father (that I WAS scared of and thought was a dangerous psycho) but that she was Worried about him?  
I just assumed they were in danger and needed help.  
I didn't know.  
............I still can't believe that Mya died. That Aaron might've......  
(Mr Peterson-) He must've been so broken. First that accident that killed his wife. And then his caring little daughter.  
I found where he'd buried her in the backyard.  
That kind of thing would drive anybody insane.  
And I didn't help with any of that.  
These realisations are what made me look over my fears and paranoia. And probably, what lead me back to the Mental hospital to see Mr Peterson.  
I'm not saying that what he did--- Keeping children in his basement--- Isn't wrong. But I understand now, that he couldn't do anything else at the time.  
\--------  
I'd ask, but at the same time I wouldn't.  
I'm confident that by now I have all the reasons of Why and what happened. There's no need to revisit these memories with him. I'd like to make new ones, that aren't so full of dread, instead.  
Tragedy took away Mr Peterson's family, and in a way, I helped, I took away his son.  
The last of them that he had. And he's been here since, I assume, Alone.  
And I'm also alone.  
With time to spare, that's why I still go there.  
\----------  
It takes alot of considering before I write this ask.  
'Is there anything else you miss? And wish you could do?'  
A sensitive question. I'm aware.  
Mr Peterson thinks hard on it.  
"...........Hunting."  
He replies, staring off within his mind; "I'd like to go hunting."  
\----That doesn't make him terrible Nick.---  
I have to remind,  
\---It's perfectly normal for a past time.--  
For some reason I sigh.  
He asks carefully; "Do you. Ever...?"  
"No." I admit, shaking my head, "I'm not into hunting."  
"Hmm..."  
He finds that weird. I can tell.  
"--" Chuckling a bit, "You telling me you've NEVER hunted a bear?"  
"Whk--" I choke- "A BEAR??"  
He chuckles at my shock, at the same time thinking I'm strange no doubt. Like to him it was just bizarre that I'm 32 years old and never been hunting. Like how is that even possible?  
I'm certain that's where his thoughts are. Even though My parents never hunted.  
"Hmm..."  
I feel kind of bad for asking it though, as I see him waving a hand to pass the idea off as dismissed from his head. Because it won't be happening.  
.........................

Man. I should stop coming here.  
Look what 'Good' I'm doing.  
I'm reminding him he can't live life how he chooses.  
Surely the criminal sentence for what he's been charged is almost up though? I mean----  
•..............What are you thinking Nicky? You're not really.....WHY......•  
The skeptic, paranoia rears its side at the direction my thoughts were heading.  
The differing minds start clashing with each other.  
°He's already served his time, way more times the length that I was in there.°  
•He could Rot in there for what I care. You didn't get 'let out' Nicky, we had to ESCAPE and he wouldn't just Let Us. Remember?•  
°He was scared I would say something. He didn't know what to do about me.°  
•You're EXCUSING Him??•  
°It was a long time ago °  
•I don't care.•  
Hhh........ He's being moody again, that part of me.  
°Don't be such a baby.°  
Because that's what it is. Holding onto childhood fears and misconceptions.  
•Why don't YOU stop being Stupid?•  
the voice retorts; •Making yourself Vulnerable. InterActing with Him. CONSIDERING--•  
°I'm growing up that's what. I'm not staying in the past forever.°  
•But AREN'T you? Recognising that he still Exists is the same as being stuck in the past, Isn't it? I think so. He's part of it.•  
°And whether I like it or not a Big part of it.°  
My experiences because of Mr Peterson- argueably have done alot in shaping my life. In a negative way. But it's also taught me alot of lessons.  
•Shut Up. You just don't want to Admit that I'm Right, that you're still stuck to him and you'll make another choice that hurts our life. Again.•  
°No. You're the one who just can't see it.°  
\------- I've already been diagnosed psychologically in the past. This isn't anything new. I'm already used to the voices. Of conflicting reason. Only recently it's been the less negative who's been winning the arguments.---  
•I can't see What? How Much we've been through? How it's just getting Worse? How your 'I'm gonna turn my life around!👏' 'Positive Plan' Just led us Here? How you're making us Vulnerable???•  
°----You see that cause you're stuck Back There. I'M Moving Ahead. And I'm seeing things differently now. You aren't. I actually want to rebuild and get somewhere. You just want to sit in the past and Die.°

They're arguing so much that I hear them right here. It's like I'm just the middle man here as they fight in my left and right ear.

•Screw You.•  
°See? That just Shows your immaturity. You can't even fight me on this one because you know it's true.°  
•Rrrrh....•  
°If you don't like it, why don't you do us a favour and Get out of here then?°  
•If only I could.•  
\------  
Having multiple people within you yet all trying to be one. I did so much stuff trying to get rid of it when I was younger. To numb the pain and stop my racing thoughts. Make them be quiet. It wasn't good for me.  
It wasn't good for us.  
and I regret doing it. Those days. Big spaces of time that I can't remember. I've moved past it too. When I realised it wasn't going to help, that it wasn't really helping.  
I look at my arm and sigh.  
We're gonna see what we can do.  
If I really can't make a difference.  
\--- A Good difference.---  
I don't know what then, but I have to try.  
For my concious. For my trial. For the little girl I let down and couldn't save.  
I have to try. For once in my life--- To be something again, Something better.  
\----------------------------  
The staff at the mental facility must be getting used to me. They know my name and what brings me here without needing to ask it.  
I have a new question for them today.  
"Is Mr Peterson allowed out?"  
I feel the increased confidence that's in my voice when I ask this. The results are occurring.  
They look at me strangely.  
"Pardon?"  
"Is he allowed to leave, you know the premises, with supervision?"  
I sound so much more grown up right now.  
They take my inquiry pretty seriously.  
"That depends on what you mean, Nicholas."  
The man I've come to know is named David, replies levelly.  
I repeat myself straightly;  
"If someone were to go with him could he go outside?"  
"...Yes. Technically." He says carefully, "We are allowed to give permissions for leaving. Provided the patient is in a respective condition, and supervised by a trusted individual. Yes."  
I stare at him with straight eyes and question levelly;  
"Are there any conditions?"  
"A time of leave must be recorded and a time for return set with the official staff. Register with bookkeeping who is taking the patient and contact information. We need to make sure communication is accessible, and that they have no history of illegal conduct strikes."  
"So...It doesn't have to be with the staff?"  
I gather out of it.  
"It does not."  
".........." David, I think, Knows where I'm going with this and looks at me with a crease of concern on his serious face.  
"You need to be clear on the condition the patient is to return here." He says; "If there's any possibility it would be a struggle to get them to cooperate with this condition it's highly un-recommended."  
"...................."  
He means a struggle in getting them to come back here to the facility/'their home'. I nod in understanding.  
He knows.  
"----Nicky." David puts his hands onto the desk heavily, looking at me straight. "Nicholas. You don't have-- If this is a Burden for you--"  
"....."  
I don't like the feely words and look he's using on me, and shake my head trying to avoid his direct gaze.  
"It's not like that."  
Does he think I'm being controlled? Because he knows Mr Peterson was my 'kidnapper/abuser'.  
I don't want his pity or anything. In fact I don't even want him reminding me about it. I only told him my story because I needed an explanation for how I knew Mr Peterson and why I wanted to meet with him.  
David just recognises I'm a victim. That that's our relation.  
I tell him I'm fine. That I'm not afraid of Mr Peterson.  
That-- If he wanted to, I'd take him outside.  
I know (David) is reserved about it, but he gives me an emergency phone when I admit I don't have a cell.  
He re-iterates it's necessary that I don't hesitate to call the contact on fast dial if I need to and something happens.  
............ I 'like' how I'm an adult, probably about his age, yet he's treating me like I'm that much younger, like some kid or a teenager at most.  
I understand his warnings, and sign the papers.


	5. Stay On The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gradually erasing his looming fear of Mr Peterson, Nicky is learning, while building his confidence and understanding.

'So. Anywhere you'd like to go?'  
I finally write.  
Mr Peterson looks at me like he's getting angry.  
'Great'.  
"What's it to you?"  
Yep. He thinks I'm Taunting him.  
'I told the staff we might be going outside.'  
He seems unbelieving even of what I'm writing and puts a finger on the last part. "You What?"  
I worry he's actually offended. Annoyed.  
I scramble to put together a good answer/explanation.  
"Uh--"  
[S]'I wanted'  
No cross that out. 'If you wanted to we could go outside.'  
Sounds better.  
"Hmm..."  
I can't imagine that he likes the fact someone (has to) offering/having control of his behaviour. I mean I wouldn't either. But the anger seems to become replaced with awkwardness.  
He scratches his face and shrugs a shoulder.  
Maybe he doesn't even want to go outside.  
I'd just felt bad about my questions yesterday. Reminding him of his limitations.  
I start to get a little awkward myself.  
"Er..."  
He suddenly just says; "Yeah. Sure."  
"...." I'm surprised but I get up, telling myself it's normal if I'm nervous because I think he's a little nervous too.  
....Maybe we're Both weirdoes.  
\-------  
Because I'm not sure what we're doing when we do get outside. I try not to make it obvious I'm doing alot of staring. Standing just a little ways from the hospital doors. It wasn't a bad day out.  
There's the hilly view from here, the green grass and trees. Homes further down the winding road on lower ground.  
"So....Uh..." I put my hand back behind my head and notice Mr Peterson's stretching. Staring ahead widely.  
I remember David's warning;  
'He does have a tendency to compulsively excercise. I'd be careful he doesn't start running off on you.'  
I get worried that's Exactly what he's thinking of doing.  
"--Mr--" I wave my hand and seem to startle him into paying attention. It's like stepping outside put him on high edge alert. I put my hands up and tentatively try a gesture you'd use for 'calm down'.  
"Mrh."  
He grunts at me in response.  
I don't want to speak in case that makes this worse but I want to say something.--- But right now I'm scared that if I lose his attention for a second he's actually gonna run off like David said.  
..This is going to be Way harder than I thought it would be, isn't it?  
\--I write down a quick question.  
'Are you alright?'  
He looks at me with wide eyes and smiles like I'M the crazy one, and I barely understand what he's trying to say.  
"WhyyI wouldnyeeIuh-guhdmnnh?"  
.................0__0..............  
I don't think he realises that didn't come out right and I just try to hold in my sheer bewilderment.  
"Uh..." Shrug. Just shrug.  
"Hmmnrm..." He vaguely mellows down, and I point towards my car unsure. "We going-?"  
Mr Peterson looks around like he's trying to identify what I'm pointing at a moment before seeming to make the connection, and pulls back at the thought. Making a nervous scoffing sound.  
"I'm not Ridin with you."  
He thinks I'M crazy. I can tell.  
And starts walking away.  
........well...err....... THAT'S a perspective.  
Collecting my shock I follow.  
He's half murmuring some words that sound more like grumblings and skeptic remarks but for the life of me I can't make out any of it. So I just hope he's not asking me a question or something important.  
I don't know what the difference is but I guess stepping outside those facility walls just made his senses all bugged out.  
I mean I have anxiety myself but Geez. Is this what it looks like from the outside?  
We're walking at a pretty chill pace-- even slow for me. And he stopped 'talking'(grumbling) so it's starting to feel almost nice.  
Until he makes a loud noise and scares me so much I trip backwards.  
My eyes go wide trying to figure out what just happened then I blink seeing he had in fact jumped through the air.  
I slowly go to get up and he does it again. Before I know it I'm watching Mr Peterson go bounding down the road.  
Uh.......  
I get up quickly realising what's happening--Very vaguely mind you, and start going after him down the uneven hills.  
The thought that we were two men-- One in his fifties---  
Running and (him) bouncing down a sloping road is so bizarre my mind may well be not right.  
I don't even think to get the phone and call the number until we're far from the hilltop we started, and then when I remember he stops.  
I catch up as he stares blankly and I angrily (and confusedly) scratch down a note and almost shove it towards him.  
'WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT'  
He looks at it and chuckles, then at me and laughs.  
"You got sore muscles or something?"  
So he just did it for fun. That was just a little excercise. I drop my hand and groan a little at how panicked I had been.  
\----Lord please don't let me fall into this level of insane. I beg.-----  
Exercise or not that didn't seem normal for a grown man.

\--------

I know now that Mya had wished I could help. Somehow. She'd known her dad was 'getting worse', she said so multiple times. And she knew he needed help. Because I was the outsider who'd seen and come to be familiar to her and her family, who'd seen what Mr Peterson was like. She'd just been hoping that I could've been that opening to look for and get help.  
She thought I'd 'understand' the way she 'understood'.  
But I didn't then.  
She was only 10, I can't blame her for having high expectations of me, she was desperate.  
It's partly Mya I think of now.  
How things might have turned out differently if she hadn't died.  
How-- Because of her, that might be one of the reasons why I'm giving Mr Peterson another chance.  
Why I'm doing this.  
Because back then I didn't do anything.  
\-------  
I'm a little surprised he has so much stamina to be still running. Before I remember the workers comment on his 'compulsive excercising'.  
Then I guess it makes sense.  
We've walked and run a long way.  
Need to make sure we'll be back at the hospital by my set time. I wouldn't doubt there's some kind of tracker/locater thing in the phone they gave me. Nowadays.  
If you're not back by the time that was set they probably look it up.  
Remembering I actually have to tell and convince this guy we/he has to go back makes my throat clam up--- And my hands harden, it takes me longer to write out this message.  
'Have to be back before 6.'  
I look at my watch, we should start heading back, it's 5:24.  
He doesn't exactly like the message and stares at it, then at me without answer.  
"..."  
"Please?"  
I pray he doesn't make this into a 'harder than it has to be' situation. The consideration must be there.  
"Mmhh...."  
Growling and curling his fingers Mr Peterson turns around.  
He still doesn't say anything and continues to walk back.  
'I'm sorry about this.' I write as I walk, for once thinking it might be easier if I could just talk. Even though I struggle to find good words.  
'I didn't make the rules.'  
I debate showing him this note but I most likely would have said it if he could hear. So I do.  
Mr Peterson takes a look at the note and growls again smacking it from my hands and continuing on.  
He's definitely mad. I pick up the book slowly and return to walking. Feeling a heavy aura about him.  
I don't try anything else this afternoon. I don't 'say' anything else. And neither does he.  
We just keep walking, back up the hills.  
\-- I've started to see Mr Peterson in a different light since my visits. Maybe closer to how Mya had seen him. As it's not just myself I'm concerned for--- When he starts growling again and rolling his head around, snapping at nothing, slowing to a pace that's painful as we near the hospital.  
I'm strangely almost tempted to put a hand on his back. Something. But I know that'd probably just send him lashing out.  
I wonder what it must've been like if you were a child and your father went like this.  
How Aaron-- Became cold and emotionless. Learning that the tiniest of seemingly normal actions could suddenly turn him worse.  
I stop when Mr Peterson stops, and feel the best thing for me to do is to look away.  
He had a thing about people 'watching' him. That I do remember.  
It's probably not what the staff would suggest I do, but I turn my body away from his and look somewhere else.  
He's breathing, loud, suggesting he might be aware how far from calm he was, and attempting to put himself back together.  
We're not far from the hospital so time is the last thing on my mind right now.  
From my own experiences I know it's not so simple to just go through or snap a fix on your problem when your having an attack.  
I've been there myself. To be honest.   
He takes another deep breath in and out, clearing his throat, and turns his gaze to me. -- The last thing I sense. And since it's not malice I turn back around a little and hope I look like I understand, because I do.  
And I think he's thankful I didn't judge or freak out.  
Even if he can't say the words.  
\---------  
We'd gotten back right around 6. The staff hadn't had any questions. About the time anyway.  
After when I was alone with them and ready to leave, they stopped me to ask how things went. If everything had been under control, his behaviour--- Basically if I felt okay and whether there's been any problems.  
...MMMmmmm.............  
Hard time communicating, spacing out, didn't know where was going at times, (me) having to trust him on this level, not liking the concept of coming back at a specific time, frustrated, had a.... Mild(??) Attack/breakdown-- but sorted it out.  
I'd say it wasn't 'bad'.  
You know, given what you have to expect.  
He didn't Actually try to run off/fight or hurt me so, no. Those would be 'problems'.  
\---------  
Honestly I feel good about myself as I drive home.  
I'm learning to be more empathetic, and getting rid of my fears by understanding Mr Peterson more.  
Coming here is giving me confidence, just like I thought it would. Maybe being a grown-up (in the true sense of it) Isn't as far off for me anymore.  
•• So you go and you visit with this guy. Big deal. How's THAT doing anything for you?••  
Of course. I'm not surprised to hear That voice chiming in. Honestly it's ironic.  
°° You really can't tell? Wow. It does alot. Compared to what your alternative was.°°  
Burn.  
•• 'It does alot', No, it Doesn't. You're just blinding yourself into thinking there's a point to it.••  
°° Oh, did you get that from my point towards you? It sounds familiar.°°  
Hhh.... I sigh, forcing my own cents in there--  
'Guys, guys, Can we Please save this for later?'  
Like after I'm home? And not on the road?  
They don't say much beyond that. I get to drive the rest of the way home without hearing them arguing in my ears, so that's amazing.

\-----

(quick note: This may be a less interesting chapter--- I hope it's not boring, but it Is step-based. Kind of like the library chapter but without the mystery lol)

I know who I agree with but we're all stuck in the same body.  
I get my toast and sit down before they resume their argument.  
(In his head)  
That I don't really feel anything about, so I watch t.v.  
••You're not actually going anywhere by visiting him.••  
°° Really? Because I feel alot more confident now than I have been.°°  
•It's a Delusion.•  
°No you wish. We tried things your way and all it got was into more trouble.°  
•I don't know how you keep telling these lies but it's real annoying.•  
°What part of it's a Lie? I Do feel more confident. I'm Not as scared, I'm doing things, I'm learning more empathy, I have Something going for me and I'm not just depressed.°  
•Hhhhhhh.......•  
°I'm Not saying we're perfect but I'm doing alot better. We're getting there, somewhere.°  
•................•  
Sat, (The negative voice) doesn't know what to say.  
Not that I care because honestly I'm more focused on the television, I just notice the lengthy gap in silence coming from my head. Then it finally speaks up again sourly,  
•WHERE Are you Getting from spending time with some guy who's deaf? Like 'NeverMind' what he Did to us cause your SO 'past that's but. It's not like your even having much conversation.•  
For a moment I'm shook, wondering what positive Nick will come back with. This time there's a pause.  
°Yeah but that's....I'm trying, that's what matters isn't it? It's a new experience for me to learn things.°  
•By trying to find a way to talk to a crazy deaf guy?• *skeptic  
°Yep. Why not?°  
•Hhhh.....•  
I think Sat's worn out of trying to argue with positive Nick's thoughts.  
Great, he's given up, now I can watch the rest of this without hearing the back and forth.

__________________

I think it slipped my mind that I have paper delivery, until the truck pulled up at my house next morning and dropped off the bags.  
Guess I'll be doing that today.  
I have plenty of time to skim through them while sorting, packing and tying them all.  
Then loading the batches up and going out to deliver them.  
I'm hoping the pay when I get it is decent. Enough to at least buy food.  
I know there are still repairs but I'll get to it when I can.  
After delivering all my papers, I return to the thoughts I'd had last night. Trying to figure out just what the argument was getting at.  
Before I realised I had to go deliver papers that were dropped on my door, I'd been thinking of going to the employment centre for a look at the jobs/info. Then stopping in the library for more research.  
I might not be much of an engineer, but I know how to ask alot of questions, I don't know if there's any place that's useful.  
I didn't finish high school. So my qualifications are 'lacking' in the adult world. The employment centre would probably just direct me to education programs, I take some pamphlets and flyers. Maybe I'll use them, I know I'll at least look through them.  
Then I go back to Sat's argument. (I used to call him 'Shadow' but now he's just 'Sat')  
•'Where are you going trying to talk with some crazy deaf guy? It's not like you're having much conversation.'•  
2 Reasons alone to make it worth it were how I was feeling from it and what I have to learn.  
If we're just gonna look at it from the 'what do I have to gain' perspective.  
Still having some energy for being in public, I head to the library, with the pamphlets from the employment centre, and look up:  
'How Ot Catecommuni Thiw Def Repson.'  
(How to communicate with deaf person)  
Admittedly I'm still rusty with computers despite having been a tech kid.  
I squint at the various links that return from my search and randomly pick one. Confused the first mentioned dogs. (I don't click it)  
It takes a few seconds to load in a pretty professional website, I figure it'll only take a minute or few to read through it and see if any of there are any 'General Tips' I haven't thought of.  
I fail on literally the first line that tells you not to 'yell or talk loudly', because I wouldn't include it on my list.  
I've kinda...Stopped speaking to him anyway with my mouth. Alot of their tips related to if you were still verbally communicating.  
Basic things like making sure (if you're using-like I am) written communication that it's understood.  
Suggesting 'pictures or other visual aids might be helpful', 'Use a computer or text messaging.'  
..............I find it really hard to picture that one.  
The next section on their website is about getting attention, and I'm disappointed there's only 3 points (aside from asking the person for advice)  
'Move in their visual field.'  
'Gently tap on their shoulder.'  
I don't know about this one.  
'Flick lights at slow/medium pace--doing so fast may indicate emergency'  
...............I sit here imagining flickering lights and it gets me to laugh a little. The image is just too silly.  
I don't think I'll need tips for group settings but I skim the list for a rough idea/see of the things it mentioned. I don't need the section following it either, because it's about medical situations. I skip to emergency.  
Which says to use expressions or gestures to convey size, roundness or placement, pointing, and signing key points like pain or need to go. Etc.  
I'm mildly curious what that might mean. But I get curious alot.  
It mentions speech reading being about 30% reading lips 70% Guesswork so I feel reminded not to bother risking giving him the wrong idea and freaking out. I'd probably always think people are saying something bad about me.  
I already figured written communication.  
It mentions Sign Language again and recommending at least a few basic signs for conveying certain messages or words quickly.  
Then they give you a couple 'general traits/info' and I stop at one in particular.  
'Large, Fast gestures or signing-- Large and/or Fast movements may indicate the person is under stress and that emotion level are high. To someone who doesn't know this, the person may appear aggressive or out of control.'  
My heart sinks a little. Because I can relate to this one. When I was a kid and I saw Mr Peterson waving his arms around and gesturing wildly while he struggled to speak clearly. I DID Assume he was just Aggressive and Violently insane.  
...............I sigh and look at what's left reluctantly. Scrolling to the bottom to make sure that's all they had for me and think.  
The one made me feel really bad. Just for it's straightforward reminder of how much I misconstrued the situation as a child.  
I'd already figured it. And shake my head trying to think of what else it'd said.  
I remember the lights. And faintly smirk.  
I remember Aaron telling me to 'watch this' and flickering the light switch rapidly getting his dad's attention, and startling him pretty bad. We both thought it was really funny--- Even though I was scared he was going to kill us when he realised there was no point to why he was doing it.  
Aaron knew it'd startle him because he was already holding in his laughter beforehand.  
I feel a twinge of sadness remembering my good memories. And move myself on before I get tempted to stay in them. What else did the website say?  
Uh.....Oh. It did say to learn a few basic 'signs: in case you needed to say something quickly. I'm not sure I will but I guess you never know when it might be useful. (Even for other things)


	6. Unexpected Change of Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The way to recovery isn't always a smooth one.

I don't know why I'm scared to ask Mr. Peterson about this. But I am, it's like it's on the same level of uneasy topic as - ' our History'.  
He knows I know by now, right?  
Yet he hasn't asked how I know.  
The only reason I know is because David the receptionist/recordkeeping who works here told me.  
I get the feeling he'll have a bad response when I mention it. Given how much of a secret it seemed to be. But why should it be? I Hope it's just my normal paranoia being over dramatic.  
'Do you know sign?'  
I write, he doesn't seem to make the connection what I'm asking.  
'Language? Hand-signs?'  
I barely know what I'm talking about here. But try to be more specific.  
While I'm sure he understands the question now --- Why I was asking seemed to be another story.  
He moves his hands and keeps staring pensively.  
I expect he'll say something eventually but Mr Peterson just squints his eyes at me.  
I get worried I'd actually been correct assuming this was one way for me to get (back) onto his bad side.  
I go to reach for the notebook to explain and he quickly puts his hand over mine to stop me.  
I look at him unsurely as he twists his mustache.  
The silence is killing me slowly.  
"I really..." *Stop myself from speaking, though it's hard not to when I'm nervous.  
"Hmn..."Mr Peterson grabs my notebook and I'm surprised to see him writing back. He hasn't done that before. It was only a yes or no question, I'd thought, how complicated could it be?  
I wait until he passes it back to me, and then gets up to stretch as I wearily read the letter he'd written.  
'letter' being a more accurate description;  
'Wander wander wander,  
Of all the things in this world to ponder,  
Why is it with me you bother?  
Silence upon silence that is proceeded,  
Surely most would fear and flee,  
Uncertain of the way things be.  
An endless curiousity,  
Yet you focus it on me.  
You wish to know of this or that,  
Rather much just like a cat,  
And you know what they say, about that.'

I stare at the words thinking I must've misread, then in bewilderment that they're still the same.  
I look to Mr Peterson but he seems to be ignoring my gaze. Continuing to stretch and excercise.  
I don't know what it means why he'd write that.  
Is it a Legitimate Warning with the references about 'fear and flee' and that old proverb about curiousity killing the cat? Am I the cat?  
I don't know how to answer this, I just turn my hand in confusion. Does he mean for me to leave him alone? Or does he just find it strange I don't? Even now that he's written me a message it's even more cryptic.  
I thought I asked a simple question, but that's the problem isn't it? I ask too many questions. Maybe to him I'm the weird and mysterious one.  
That'd be something.  
But maybe it is.  
I haven't given any reason why I'm still visiting him.  
I decide to try writing an explanation.  
'I'm learning things by coming here, about myself.'  
\---If he can be cryptic so can I. ----  
'and trying to get over the fences. I want to be, friends.'  
I hesitate to put the last word and whether it was the right BV wording for it. But it sounds the most reasonable.  
I hope it is.  
I turn the book and slide it across the table.  
Mr Peterson slows and looks at it, before I know it he breaks out in exuberant laughter--- I'm glad it's not rage, but.... He's rarely this entertained.  
Which worries me he doesn't believe it.  
Still laughing he puts a hand on the table like he needed to to stay standing up and sniffs trying to bring himself back under control.  
At this point We've probably baffled each other to be quite honest.  
Mr Peterson settles slowly still staring down at the desk. His head slumps. An uneasy silence follows.  
Curling and uncurling his fingers, and tightening his shoulders. I think his emotions took a 90° turn. His tone with those words makes me stiffen.  
"You got some nerve, don't ya?"  
This is the part before the serious beatdown in a western film isn't it? I legitimately get ready to run.  
"Hnh...Hn...Hh... Comin here, talkin about bein 'Friends', Nick."  
The slightest move from that position and my body is going to fly, it almost does as he rattles his head.  
"You outta your mind?"  
He looks at me seriously, baffled, a hint of disbelief on his face. He rarely asks me questions, but this one needed an answer and without thinking I accidentally reply;  
"I am."  
The blankening of shock in his face is what makes me realise my mouth admitted that was true. And he'd understood it.  
I just sunk myself.  
I can't take it back.  
The rush of guilt, shame and emotion makes me get up immediately and head for the door. I hear clatter and he moves so fast I think he jumped over the table to grab my arm, I jerk back half in anger and he raises his other hand.  
I stop freaking out when I realise he's not looking at me violently. I don't understand what his gestures mean, but they seem to understand.  
Mr Peterson winces hesitantly and lightly touches my arm after I'd ripped back before. I freeze though he simply Pats my arm.  
I hear a voice in my head say, 'You're okay.'  
I wonder if that's what he means.  
My chest is getting tighter and tighter and suddenly feel like I'm about to cry and it's horrible.  
He puts an arm around my back and I don't even have the will to fight it.  
"You alright Nick, You alright."  
He squeezes harder, shaking me a bit.  
I thought I Was. Yeah. But.......

\-----

I don't want to go into alot of detail about what happened after.  
Let's just say our little, 'display', didn't go unnoticed by the staff members.  
I was basically a wreck by then. Just going to leave, but ironically, Mr Peterson was, I think, concerned for me. Especially about me driving. Considering it was a car accident that killed his wife I take his word for it. I didn't feel like driving anyway honestly.  
I feel ripped open and exposed. Depressed.  
I actually admitted-- I admitted OUTLOUD that I'm out of my mind. To Him. Of All people.  
I didn't want that.  
It'd been instant regret when I realised what my mouth said. A rush of disappointment and shame just flooded in.  
I didn't want anybody's attention, or compassion.  
At least, I hadn't thought I wanted it.  
Mr. Peterson stopped me from running out the door. And basically told me it was okay. That I felt like this. That it was alright.  
I didn't want to be comforted.  
It took me off-guard, especially coming from him, and I couldn't hold in my emotions, I didn't even know I'd been holding them in. They just, came out. And it was horrifying.  
The staff 'let' me stay the night in one of the temporary psychiatric stress rooms. I'm positive they're not just being 'nice'.  
\--------  
I sit here in the solitary room, one among a few in the ward. I think there's someone else in another room. The sealing makes them almost sound-proof to the outside.  
I huddle my knees to my chest. Still thinking about how terrible a feeling it was to express my dark emotions. How fast Mr Peterson became close to me, How close he had been.  
The way he looked at me with worry on his face.  
Only now do I realise he'd been holding me. Like I need to be comforted. I hadn't even minded.  
I don't know what comforting is supposed to be like. Alone. I'm a wolf-- but I think he was trying. And I think that's what ripped me. Made those flood-gates open that I wasn't aware were even there.  
................I've become that crazy guy. Certainly that's how I'd've been labelled by my younger eyes.  
I thought I was doing good, but one wrong slip and it feels like disaster again.  
Breathe in and out, trying to slow the rapid beats of my heart.  
\-- They'll think I'm crazy.  
I ADMITTED that I'm crazy. Not to them, but....  
Are they gonna want to keep me here? --  
These thoughts only make me more anxious.  
•Maybe I Should be here...•  
NO! No. Stop thinking these thoughts. It's just a phase. Like every other phase you'll get over it. You'll get over it Nicky.  
\------------------------  
By morning I'm feeling a little better, I've calmed down and feel back to normal. I guess. I'm ready to go back home. I want to go back home. More than anything that's what I want is to head home, and not be here.   
"I'm really-- Okay."  
I assure the staff who ask me questions.  
"Sorry about yesterday."  
I don't know why I'm apologising, but they seem to believe me and let me go home.  
\--------  
I relax and it's like I forget it even happened. I look at pamphlets from the employment centre and browse sites it recommended. Look into used deposits for tin and scrap machines. Search the neighbourhood for trash. I get over it.  
\----------  
It's the day afterward I get a phone call. Hearing It ring I just stare stunned for awhile, that someone was calling, before picking it up on the last ring.  
"Hello?"  
"Nicky Roth?"  
"--Yea?"  
*Heart beats faster  
"This is the AdEnthral Talmen hospital trecen."  
The mental facility? Oh geez why are they calling Me?  
"We have on record you frequently visit with Mr Theodore Peterson?"  
"Yes?"  
It's not about me?  
"We're calling to inform you that he'll be unable to receive visitors in the next 3 days."  
"........" I stare at my blank paint chipped wall so long I guess she has to ask me;  
"Nicholas? Are you still there?"  
"Uh, yeah...Um..." I'm speechless, "Why?"  
"We, aren't allowed to disclose that information to you specifically, but the reasons are due to behavioural concerns."  
"'Behavioural Concerns?'"  
What the heck?  
That's all she'll tell me, and I'm left wondering exactly what that meant. Did he DO something to somebody? Act violent? I'd started to think he wasn't such a bad guy But-- 'BEHAVIOURAL CONCERNS'?? kinda screamed physical interaction.  
"Ughh..." I don't bother thinking on it too long. After yesterday. Telling myself it can't be that bad. Whatever he did.  
If they're only suspending him for 3 days. If he was a real danger they'd probably make it longer, right?  
I have no idea, but it makes me feel better.  
After how he'd reacted to me having (more or less) an emotional breakdown I can't just immediately go back to hating and (fully) distrusting the guy.  
I really want to see the good in him.  
It must be a little mis-understanding.  
\-------------------------------  
3 days pass and I get some minor work done. Enrolling in some free online class to see how I do. And I've started thinking about taking up scraps and trying to fix or make something out of it again.  
Then paper delivery comes. I get my first 2 week cheque, and it's enough to pay for food so I'm currently happy with it because I'd been about to end up at the food bank. Maybe I still will so I can have money for repairs.  
The neighbours haven't called the cops on me yet, and it's been over a month so I think I'm good.  
I've tried to seem social-- Saying hi when I see them and giving a wave.  
There are 2 boys, one left of me and the other across left. I don:t know if they're good friends or not but hopefully they're not the type for plotting investigations or super secret spy missions in real life.  
I've gotten a book from the library on sign language. But I'm not sure I'll use it, though I'm not opposed to learning something. Mr Peterson didn't really give me an answer when I asked him about it. He gave me a rhyme poem. Not a yes or a no.  
But I'm pretty certain he does know Sign Language.  
Maybe I'll find reason to know some.  
\------------  
I go to the mental hospital like nothing happened last time I was here. It's probably not that simple.  
Mr Peterson looks unusually laid-back. By how he's sitting on the couch in the rec room, watching t.v. an arm resting on the top of the backing.  
He looks really relaxed-- but his face is still serious.  
I remember suddenly that I hadn't been here not just by my own choice (though it'd felt that way) but because of that phone call that told me I Couldn't come here because of his behaviour.  
With a casualness that's unusual for me I sit down, he acknowledges with a murmured grunt.  
'How are you doing?'  
I write.  
"Mmnh..." He shrugs his shoulders and head.  
I'm not going to ask about the issue that apparently happened. Because I feel that's practically like begging for trouble. And I nod as if his reply made sense. Maybe it did. 'mmnh'*shrugs* is a mood. I've probably responded that way.  
I'm about to ask another question before he beats me to it. And frankly, his is probably more indepth than mine. And he genuinely seems to wonder.  
"What made you.... Change your mind?"  
....He rarely asks me anything, so that's how I know it's important, but I can't place what he's referring to at first, it could be a bunch of things.  
Mr Peterson glances my way when I don't move to write anything, and seems to just accept that 'okay, you're gonna ignore me.' and turns back to the t.v.  
'Change my mind about what?'  
I ask for clarification.  
He's hesitant to say, I can tell, wrinkling his nose and shifting his mustache.  
".....Me."  
He sniffs, I think nervous, under his tough exterior.  
That message I'd given him 4 days ago. That at first made him break out in laughter. Saying I wanted to be 'friends.'  
I don't think he'd expected me to admit I'm crazy when he asked if I was. Either.  
"Uh...." I put a hand behind my head, rubbing my neck. "I just..."  
Mr Peterson throws a hand towards me, "Answer. It."  
I realise he's gesturing to the book since I'd forgotten about writing in it.  
"Oh."  
I've had the response so many times while alone but now that I really need to answer I'm drawing blanks, figures.  
.......'I realise there's alot I didn't understand as a kid.  
Alot. And--' I hesitate to admit the rest.  
'I feel responsible for myself. And your daughter, Mya. She asked me for help before but-- I didn't understand what she meant. I feel like I let her down. And that maybe you're, not such a bad guy. Like how I thought.'  
I'm scared to show him the message but I do.  
And I watch his face as he read through it and see the expression drain from it. Probably when I'd mentioned Mya.  
I hold my arm uncertainly as he remains silent.  
He hands me back the notebook looking uncomfortable and turning his eyes right. Away from me.  
I gave him the answer he wanted.  
After a lengthy silence he asks quietly;  
"You...Say, Mya-- Asked for your help?"  
I feel terrible for making him think about this. But I nod. He's silent again for a long time, before he looks at me as if he'd rather not know but seriously.  
Practically whispers,  
"What for?"  
I really don't want to answer this but I just know he'll be mad if I don't. And sigh.  
'She was worried about you.'  
That's it. The 'monster' I used to fear looks like he's on the verge of crying and puts his hands over his face, emitting a faint suffocating noise and breathing deeply in and unsteadily out.  
I hold back at first, uncomfortable, but remember my little episode and get up, putting an arm around his broad shoulders and sitting next to him.  
He digs his hands deeper over his face and moans a terrible sound that makes me feel sick, but I run his back the way he had mine. It's not the same but I guess it's right.  
"Sorry."  
"Hmnnnh..." His growl becomes more resigned like the hurt was still there but he'd felt it a thousand times. So he can work up the strength to get over it the way he's already done. And sighs, removing his hands.  
For a few moments were both silent, and I feel some connection that I never thought I'd have with this man, or anyone really.  
Until he ruins it.  
"I'm gonna rip off your head."  
I jump back immediately falling backwards startled by how serious he sounded.  
WHAT?!?  
Mr Peterson chuckles faintly and I search his face my heart racing again for the malice that should've came with the statement but I see none, only melancholy and vague amusement. Acceptance.  
"....." I'm back to being confused.  
Did he really mean that or was he joking?  
You shouldn't joke about ripping people's heads off man. Like....What?  
"Ehh..." Uncomfortably I squeeze my arm glancing around unsure about what I'm doing.  
Mr Peterson seems to motion I sit back down where I'd been originally.  
I do, even still thrown off into unease.  
But I start to think it was just a bad choice of words, not serious.  
I think he can tell I'm nervous by the way I'm shaking.

Can we not do this unsure thing, please? Mr Peterson?  
Literally the second I start to feel at ease with him and on the same level he makes me feel Uneased again.  
He'd joke about bones and the wrong things.  
I wonder if he just wanted me to 'get off his back' and that was the most natural way for him to do it. Brilliant.  
I hope the staff didn't hear that. We don't say anything to each other afterwards. He isn't a good conversationalist and neither am I usually either. So it's just awkward. Saying things like that don't make it any easier to connect. Like, where do you continue after someone's making a Threat?  
It's like he's afraid of being open.  
I mean I did the same thing-- I think-- That he did for me when I had a mini- break down. I just assumed he'd appreciate the same. But I guess not.  
I suddenly hear a terrible loud whining and moaning, and flinch hard because I wasn't expecting it, and then I don't know where it's coming from when I realise it's not him.  
Some guy is drawling on and screaming from somewhere and I try to find out where because I question if I'm losing my mind.  
Maybe it's one of the patients. When I hear:  
"NO! I DON'T WANNA! NO!"  
I jump and fall out of the chair as he cuts to a sudden curdling scream making my heart beat begin it's race all over.  
Mr Peterson is looking at me strangely and I wonder if he really doesn't hear any of it even a little.  
It's So Loud.  
He turns his head around skeptical and I wonder if he does hear something of it or if he's just wondering why I'm freaked out.  
He growls.  
I finally see that it Was a patient probably a newer inmate-- Inmate? Is that-- Anyway, he was wearing all white and still screaming at the staff that are practically pulling him along in the outside hall because he's fighting like a raging 2 year old.  
It's a weird thing to see.  
The guy has to be in his 30's or 40's, because he's got a big bald spot--- Or he's just half-shaved. I don't know honestly.  
The staff on duty watch their co-workers pass by with the man like they'd seen it many times before. Unphased.  
I wonder what the problem is.  
What made him freak out like that.  
It's not my business but I'm curious like always. Especially seeing something like that.  
"Hhh..." I let out a sigh when they'd left and gone further away. Shaken, I get back up realising I was still on the floor.  
"That's crazy."  
Understatement Nick. It's a mental facility. You should expect that by now  
I notice Mr Peterson look at me afterwards and I feel like in his head he's asking me what happened but doesn't say anything.  
I notion my thumb back towards the hall.  
"Some guy was screaming."  
He shrugs a shoulder slightly, not paying it much mind. "Mmh.."  
I forgot to write and used my mouth again. So I'm not sure he understood. I don't really hear the patient anymore, far off.  
I notice Mr Peterson absently fiddle with his ear as he watched the television.  
I debate it but I'm too curious. I write,  
'Can you hear someone scream?'  
He looks at me dead like I must have some nerve asking that. Maybe lowkey if it's even still going on.  
"You like to find out?"  
He quips with a smirk.  
I feel my bones cringe like his imagining rending them projected out to me.  
He chuckles lightly, but I think vaguely, seems to realise he shouldn't be trying these 'jokes' on me. I take them seriously. I already have PPD man, like, come on. Don't encourage it.

\-------------

The receptionist I met when I first came to the AdEnthral mental hospital, David, is a really nice guy.  
I think. From the times I've talked with him.  
I wonder if I sensed he was nice and that's why I told him about my history, or if that was just because I needed an explanation and was nervous.  
Anyway, I try my luck in asking him today something that might be unusual, but try to phrase it so I don't sound too crazy.  
" Do you think I could spend a day here?"  
(Hard not to sound crazy, right?)  
He raises an eyebrow at me. I continue;  
"I've been thinking about whether I'd like to work in a psych place."  
He seems to have some dawning of understanding.  
"I see."  
"I, was thinking maybe it'd be good to observe what it's like."  
It's only half a lie. I have considered it. Once or twice. Since I'm such a good question-asker. Partly you could say I'm just morbidly curious.  
"Are you interested in any line of work specifically?" David asks, " Psychiatric nurse? Reception? Worker? Counselling? Kid? Adult? Any general direction yet?"  
He doesn't know I haven't even started education for anything like that.  
"Uh...I haven't decided yet."  
"Hmm..."  
He seems to think about it.  
And I wonder if my wandering mind is getting me into trouble again.  
"As long as you understand there is unpredictability.."  
I nod, "I'm sure there is." (*Remembering screaming freak out man from the other day)  
"There are 2 basic types of patient categories."  
David adds, and I'm listening. This is new information. And I consume information.  
"The Temporary short term stay patients-- which really vary between days, weeks or months. And the Residential patients, long term."  
Mr Peterson is definately in the 'Residential/Longterm' group. I wonder if there's even anyone who's been here longer at this point. I hadn't thought of it until now. My curiousity burns.  
"Do they have different rooms, or--?"  
"There might be some conditional differences, which might change depending on the Patients credit."  
" 'Credit'?"  
"Based on their behaviours and factors. There's alot of processing. That's why we need accurate recordkeeping to keep everything in check."  
He beams, proud to be one. He really likes his job here. I'm fascinated.  
"Wow. So is there like, a schedule or something?"  
"There is. There might be the odd exception, but generally visiting hours, sleep schedules, and meeting times are fixed. This is especially true for the short term patients, you have to follow a strict schedule."  
"Okay..."  
David looks through his records, of I think current admissions and spaces, nodding,  
"Well there's currently a few vacant spots. So I guess you're in luck."  
So I'm going to be admitted as a patient temporarily.  
But David makes sure to note me in as a student doing research. Not a psychiatric case.  
(Although...)  
I question it but it's nice of him to let me observe like this. EvenIfHeMightActuallyBeAgreeingBecauseHeThinks\KnowsThereIsDomethingWrongWithMeAndMaybeTheEnvironmentWillHelp.  
I must be a weirdo because I get a little excited at the idea of experiencing what the stay inside a mental place is like.  
Definately a weirdo, Nick.  
Maybe I'm excited--- Maybe I'm just really nervous.  
Half of me is questioning what and why the heck I'm doing this and the other is saying because I need answers to my curiousity.  
\---- So other....Patients. I keep wanting to call them inmates and that's rude. Don't get suspicious or raise a fuss I have to give David my watch, and my shoes (apparently you can't have laces here---Or belts.) I get a different pair of shoes the hospital keeps in supply.  
I'm prepared to write notes and keep track.  
I must be the only freak excited for his first day.  
-Its Totally just for research.-  
I say to myself.  
-Purely to fill my curiousity.-  
Maybe to see if I could be-- If I could work in a place like this.  
...I don't know what I'm talking about.  
They 'admit' me at night.  
I'm alone in this room that's usually for two on short term. I think I would have instantly regretted it and possibly died of a heart attack if there was someone else here.  
\----------  
My thoughts were swirling and racing throughout the night. Spiked by anxiety and the Sudden paranoia that hit me at 2:00 a.m. about other patients wandering or breaking in.  
So that was a thing.  
\----------


	7. AdEnthral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicky Roth begins his stay at the mental health hospital, for research purposes, of course.

At 7:00 a.m. Someone's coming around to the doors banging them and reminding that breakfast is in 30 minutes. I'd probably slept a couple hours, and I wake up confused about where the heck I am.  
Until I remember my brilliant research idea. Which both excites and terrifies me equally as to why I thought this was a good idea.  
'I have 30 minutes to get ready.' I repeat hyperanxious because it's been honestly forever since I've had a set to do something time schedule. Let alone go into I don't know where with a bunch of people.  
They might think you need to stay here Nicky.  
With how I'm acting. I doubt I'll look too out of place.  
Great.  
I get up and try to look a little more like the totally sane research/observation student I'm supposed to be but the mirror just reflects my perpetually messy untamed hair, tired and bulging eyes, scruffy face and skinny build. In the past I've felt many things like depression and disappointment from looking in mirrors, but now I just shrug and feel indifferent.  
My anxiety is peaking, I stick my head out the door looking around minutes before 7:30. I don't know where I'm supposed to be going.  
A nurse comes through the hall encouraging the patients along and I follow with them. Looking quickly from one short term patient to another.  
Wondering what brought them here. Picking out features of their faces. Teen girl, and women, young men and an older man. They probably all have different reasons.  
Breakfast is in a cafeteria/kitchen room. A bunch of tables and chairs. Counters where they serve things from the visible open kitchen.  
My heart is still beating fast as I nervously try and take in everything around me. Though at this point I think my brain is doing more spacing out than active observing, as I stumble around lightheaded.  
After getting my food-- Whatever that was I grabbed and they serve me, I somehow made my way to the furthest table corner. With thankfully nobody to sit beside me. So I can get my bearings and set things straight on actually observing, as well as settle my crazy heart rate. That's easier to do if I'm further away from everybody and can see everything.  
Some people whine and moan, picking at their plate contents or pushing them around. Others just eat it. I look at the different people, some you could guess why they might be here. Others it's not as clear.  
Feeling a little calmer I turn my head to my own plate and look at what's on it.  
Eggs and Ketchup packets. I realise I must've accidentally just grabbed a handful of ketchup packets instead of whatever else was made.  
Nice job, Nicky. You seem perfectly normal. Hopefully they think I'm faking it-- If they notice it.  
It's been awhile since I've had eggs so actually I'm good with the meal. Grabbing the fork and trying not to just wolf it down. Making it into little pieces to eat individually. I'm still watching the wave *exaggeration of people in the room with me. Like my body is invisible to them. I Hope I'm invisible to them. I don't know why but I eat some of the ketchup things too. It's delicious. Top quality flavour.  
\-------------  
15 minutes later and I've already finished and been watching. Which calms me down because I have time to settle with what's going on.  
A skinny girl is crying and struggling to eat her breakfast.  
I realise you can get up and put your trays away when you're finished, seeing some other people do it. They give you about an hour from when Breakfast is first started to when you need to meet as a 'community'. Apparently it's your choice whether to go back to your room or stay in the rec until then. (Granted you're not on 1:1 supervision.)  
I'd waited until almost everyone had already left before putting my plate away, when I turn around I flinch seeing Mr Peterson standing there across the room staring at me directly with big eyes.  
I somehow forgot he was even a patient here.  
Big Fail, Nick. Seriously.  
I guess he's allowed to come in later because I swear I hadn't seen him earlier. I just stare back for a few minutes and neither of us moves.  
He probably thinks he's seeing things.  
Well....This is awkward.  
The worker who's with eating issues girl looks over at me probably wondering why I'm just standing there. And I awkwardly apologise and go to move myself. To be honest I think I was frozen because I didn't know where else to go. I don't want to approach Mr Peterson even indirectly at this point because the stiff stare and prospect of explanation is seriously awkward. But it's the only way out of here.  
He straightens up as I cross the room closer to him and stands so still I think he's stopped breathing.  
I'm going to just ignore him and walk out when suddenly he lunged forwards grabbing me--Looking more shocked he COULD grab me and that I was real.  
Then his eyebrows slant and he growls, letting go and walking off grumbling and rattling his head.  
I think he just needed affirmation I wasn't a hallucination, but the 'Why' of being real was out of his questioning.  
It's almost 8:30 so I go to locate the room where the Short Term Patient Meet would be.

At the meeting, staff go over rules and regulations with us.  
Like (for example): Only using the phone for 10 minutes at a time. Not allowed to keep water buckets in your room, no towels or food either. Don't have physical contact with the other patients. At all.  
Keep to the schedule. Don't weaponize or throw things, etc. Etc.  
It's kind of a depressing meeting.  
When they go around the group asking people to share their story-- What brings them here. Alot of them it's depression. The shaking man-- Paranoid Schizophrenia. Anxiety. Suicide attempters. Anorexics. One is Manic. When they come to me I quickly say I'm not sure, and avoid the faces of the others. The 'record' David noted up for me that the staff would've seen means they know I'm (not supposed to be) a patient.  
But for the sake of unitary ease I have to participate like I am.  
9:10 Is when one on one meetings usually start, between the patients and their doctors/psychiatrists.  
Then you're relatively free to go again--- Except that freedom is limited to where they Say you can go. Usually your room, the rec--- I didn't know they had a small library. I take notes about everything.  
11:30 a.m. is a 'Process Group' with social workers. Fun.  
Today they have an excercise about 'combating negative thoughts',-- You come up with 3 and then find positive ways of dealing with them.  
I make notes instead of doing mine.  
Nobody likes doing it and several people struggle and cry.  
12:30 is lunch time. I don't usually eat lunch but they'll probably think I definately have a problem if I don't eat, like the anorexic girl who dreads it.  
I don't linger in the cafeteria this time, in case I run into Mr Peterson again, as I notice he's Once again not with everyone. He must spend more time alone. But surely-- I think, they must force him into social interaction? To go to the group meeting? With other Long Term patients at least? I don't know.  
They let you sign up/wait if you want to go outside. (In a supervised area) I join that.  
Not everyone chooses to go outside.  
The patients that do, alot of them just stand around awkwardly. Some of them chat. Then there's the guy running in place and stretching in the corner. It's Mr Peterson. He's staring at everyone else and I wonder what he's thinking looking so focused.  
Out of everyone here he seems the most awake despite them all being definately younger.  
The grass is green and we're not closed in. I'm surprised the place isn't closed in. Like, really.  
A change in movement got my attention and I see that Mr Peterson has stopped moving, he's just staring in one direction. I get uneasy even though it's not towards me. He steps forwards and into a run, startling some but not everyone as he cuts the field at a quickening pace. I see the other man running further afield and realise that's who Mr Peterson had been staring at. I watch bewildered and swallow as he closes in and grabs the man harshly pulling him downwards to the ground.  
"Uh--" Am I the only one seeing this?  
Like, AM I THE ONLY ONE SEEING THIS?  
None of the staff seem to be freaking out appropriately about him literally takedowning the guy and now restraining him on the yard as he howled and struggled. Not even other patients seem to care much. Until I see this one blonde girl-- I think named Emily-- Looking as weirded out as me. She turns to the staff incredulously. "There's a Fight going on over there?" She points, like, 'what the heck, do you not care?'  
Honestly I don't know if it's a fight at this point as Mr Peterson is dragging the groaning and moaning dazed man back across the yard after putting him in an uncomfortable hold.  
The staff examine the scene and seem fine with it. I'm surprised.  
"That's John." The worker replies, "He's trying to run off again."  
"....O-kay but like---" Emily stops skeptically, "That guy is, Dragging him??"  
"He isn't doing him any harm. It's help to us letting Theodore catch the runners."  
"......."  
Whatever. Emily looks disbelieved at their moral but leaves it at that. I'm glad she asked what I was wondering, though that's not the reason I was expecting.  
So they....Just let Theodore ---- Mr Peterson, take care of bringing back patients who are running off or freaking out? Seems....Dangerous.  
Sure it means the staff don't have to deal with it but isn't that telling him that it's okay for him to use physical contact? You can't tell petients 'No Physical Contact' and then let this guy literally tackle and restrain others. No matter what the reason is at the time, it'll enforce that it's okay for him to do that.  
Even creepier I find about it is I realise who this 'John' sort of looks like. Only his hair is really greasy and longer. Hanging around his shoulders.  
I shiver. He kinda looks like me.

\-----------

2:30 is 'Education Group' time.  
We meet, and a lady with dark red hair and glasses speaks about Bipolar Disorder. I take plenty of notes, and some of the patients I think judge me for that. I swear one of them is so mad that I'm actually interested and writing things down that he's imagining beating me upside the head. It's really unnerving so I stop taking notes because I don't want him actually attacking me.  
I don't think I was ever diagnosed with Bipolar but sometimes I do have periods where I'm have alot more energy and positivity than my usual. But I have no idea.  
I already knew 4:00 was general visiting hours, and since I'm not trying to get in trouble by stalking other people's visits I try to locate Mr Peterson. Despite what I'd seen of him wrestling down the other patient earlier, the staff had said he wasn't doing anything wrong or that they wouldn't do I guess.  
I notice he's not in the rec room, and guess he might be in his room. I don't think I can go there as it's against rules (being in each other's rooms) and I'm not sure I'd find it or want to be anyway.  
Instead I go to that little library, thinking maybe I'll check their books out. It's probably alot of mental health books or reference and advice though.  
There's a woman reading near the front seating corner.  
Browsing the dark, packed shelves and skimming over the covers and spines I don't think they're all education actually. Noticing different topics.  
The library is only small so I've almost made my way through the aisles to the back, when then I spot Mr Peterson on the other side of the last one. His back is to me so I don't think much of staring. At first I assume he's reading, since it Is a library, but it doesn't look like words on his book. I creep slowly left trying to get a better look through the shelves. I realise he's drawing something, what, I can't tell from this angle.  
I debate turning the corner like what was planned. Even though I had been originally going to look for him.....  
.......... It's not like this is intentional. (That I did find him)  
I feel awkward all of a sudden.  
I don't know Why my nerves suddenly decided to be hyper but they are.  
Ugh.  
My anxiety is so powerful Mr Peterson actually senses me and gets up, I think uncertain at first, but then fiercely looks in my direction and steps against the other side of the bookshelf, staring me in the eyes.  
"Hello. Nicky."  
I feel intimidation coming from his look.  
"Uh...Hey...um..."  
Awkward.  
I guess being found out I might as well come out from around the corner.  
Mr Peterson acertains his book is closed on the seat as I do, and he then gives me a check up and down. Raises his right hand slightly then as if in a change of mind slowly closes his fingers and lowers it again.  
I see he tries very hard to ask straight while seeming serious.  
"What brings you here?"  
"I um..." Put my hand up behind my head, glancing down at my 'hospital' shoes and the floor awkwardly,  
"Research."  
"....."  
"Like.." I quickly put my hands flat on the books as if to help explain 'research'.  
"...mnh." he grunts, glancing away from me, and I wonder If I'm being weird.  
"Uh.." I straighten from the shelves quickly and pull out my notebook.  
"I'm doing research."  
He still stares at me strangely so I add,  
"On patients stay and psychiatry, So I admitted myself like for a few days."  
Mr Peterson squints his eyes and I can sorta get the impression he's either trying to imagine Me as a psychiatrist or how insane you'd have to be to admit yourself here on the topic of 'research' thinking it made sense.  
I know alright, I'm a little weird.  
Thankfully--- and I'm surprised actually, he doesn't say anything like that and just turns his head.  
"Any..." He thinks of the word, "...Particular Reason you were-- Hiding, behind a, bookshelf?"  
Oh. Yeah. Guess I'd be wondering why someone seemed to have been staring at me like that too.  
"Sorry, I was looking through the shelves and I just was surprised to see you."  
I'm not sure he believes this one, but he doesn't really Imply-imply he doesn't more so as passive-aggressively lean in and suggest he DID NOT like it.  
"Well, you could just come say 'hello' instead of, spying through peekholes."  
"Right.."  
I didn't mean anything by it, really. Even if I was a little curious about his drawing.  
"...." Mr Peterson seems to settle from being 'challenging' and moves to sit back down,  
"Thought you were a ghost earlier. Now you're sneaking around a library? Do you want to be... Psychiatris or a stalker, Nicky?"  
I feel my face burn with embarrassment as he called out my tendency to seem that way.  
"I really don't mean it that way, sorry."  
I'm surprised how much he's talking to me today.  
It might not be all clear--(Some words were a little, janky.) But at least he's not just staring at me continuosly with his blank look.  
I want to ask about his book, but again that's my curiousity being overactive about everything. He clearly doesn't want me to see it. Because he's left it closed to the side.  
Mr Peterson rolls his head murmuring and fidgeting with his hands. I believe he's thinking of what else to say. I'd say something about my amazement or how I appreciate it him talking and not just staring at me- But I know he'll probably take that as if I'm talking down to him. So I don't.  
"How Been?"  
He settles for when he can't work around the whole form. And I'm certain he signs the rest of the question just annoyed he couldn't word it properly.  
"I've kind of enjoyed it here."  
Is honestly my first thought, which is weird, (since I've also been scared and nervous) but I admit.  
Mr Peterson chuckles,  
"How long ya stay?"  
"It's 3 days, but maybe I'll ask to stay longer if it helps."  
Now he really laughs-- Which makes me feel kind of good. I don't know if he realises I'm serious or thinks I'm just joking. Either way, it's nice not being afraid. And having a pretty normal conversation. Despite the place were in. I like to think he feels that way too, but I can't be sure. He could still think I'm a stalker for all I know, since he did mention it. But I feel like he wouldn't be talking to me if he didn't. \---------  
6p.m. Is dinner, and I'm more or less confirmed Mr Peterson doesn't need to be here on time with everyone else. I wonder why that is.  
The cafeteria serves chicken literally drowning in gravy , green beans and carrots with a tomato slices, and a stuffing ball of...Potato?  
To my standards we eat alright. I'd been eating few actual 'meals' for months. Dinner? Pfft. Guess I'll make toast or eat an apple. Breakfast? Same thing.  
Green beans and Carrots? CHICKEN AND GRAVY?  
oh man.  
I'm gonna Like this place if they keep feeding us the stuff they have today.  
I can't believe there are actually people whining. But I guess that's their thing. I gladly eat what's served and wait for some others to finish theirs.  
I'm not sure what I'll do until 'Closure/review Group' that's scheduled at 8:00p.m. I'm so relieved that isn't 'bed time' by the way.  
When we get there some complain that dinner made them feel a little sick. I didn't notice anything that weird. The staff wants everyone to review their goals and whether they met them. Someone breaks down in tears for several minutes for not achieving hers. I notice and accidentally meet Emily's disbelieving gaze moving off from the sobbing woman and we both awkwardly turn our gazes again.  
There's free time for half an hour before night meds are being given out. I note the surprising willingness and anticipation that most of them have in lining up to get theirs.  
At 9:30 p.m. Everyone hangs out in the rec room. Chatting about all sorts of things, or playing simple games. I note the unexpected ease, and feel like for a few minutes everyone has something in common and feels in place here. Not a thing I was expecting to see in the facility. With its screaming, its depressed, it's hurting, and its awkward patients. Some of us seem like normal people for awhile.  
"Amazing ain't it?"  
I twitch hearing the voice near me.  
"Hey."  
"?" I turn my head surprised she's actually talking to me. "Uh.....Uh...Hey."  
It's that Emily. The only patient who'd questioned the staff (other than me, mentally) when she saw Mr Peterson dragging John. She looks at me now like she's devisive on her decision to come talk after my awkward response.  
"Whatchu been writing?"  
She asks, I guess having noticed me with this book all day.  
"Just--- notes.  
"About what, the Patients?" She looks real skeptic now like I'm a creepoid.  
"N--Not like that..." I try and assure, "I'm, doing research. Recording what the daily life is like. "  
"Oh. For a second I thought you were-- uh, Nevermind."  
It could look that way...  
I get uncomfortable because she sits down at the seat next to me.  
"Give them meds and suddenly were not as awkward."  
"Eh...."  
"You didn't get yours?"  
She can tell I am awkward. Maybe she can sense my discomfort. Maybe I Look like I'm uncomfortable. Maybe I'm sweating. My heart starts beating fast again.  
"Uh...No. No I-- Haven't been prescribed any yet."  
I sort of lie. Because I'm supposed to be another patient like the rest of them.  
"Tough."  
"....."  
I don't know her so I'm not sure why she approached me. Other than the fact I've been loning back and writing in this book all day. But I already told her why.  
Maybe she just wanted somebody to talk with too. I try my best but I'm not good with strangers.

11:00 p.m. Is officially 'Lights Out' and 'Go to Bed time',  
Back in the bedroom I lie awake staring at the ceiling equal parts hyper and exhausted. Exhausted is probably going to overtake hyper soon now that I'm back here by myself and my anxiety and hype-creating emotions have a chance to rest.  
\-- I've officially spent a day in AdEnthral now. So I go over everything in my brain, since I didn't get any sleep medication, everyone else did.  
Although after today I don't think I should need any. It's not like I slept much the night before. I'm already losing sensation in my body from laying here. So hopefully I'll just fall asleep. Not start a paranoia that I won't wake up if I do. That's never good.

\----------

I can't tell if I'm asleep or forgotten that I'd gotten out of bed. But I hope I'm asleep, because I'm wandering the darkened hospital facility at night. While everyone else is sleeping, and I'm supposed to be too. Yet, I'm not. Or I'm not in my dream.  
........I don't know why I'm out here instead of in bed but I hear other patients snoring, some have the ability to talk in their sleep apparently, I don't envy their roomate.  
\--But what am I doing?-- I put my hands and back to the wall listening intently for footsteps or sign of the staff. I don't see anyone so I continue forwards, creeping my way down the hall. When I do hear them I stop and duck. Trying to sense out where they are I realise they're in the staff room. With windows all around. They're...Talking about the patients? Laughing?  
'How they look when they get their meds!'  
'Haha the poor dears, so stupid, and hopeless.'  
What...?  
I strain my ears but I'm Sure I hear them making fun of us?  
° You're dreaming Nick. You're not hearing this for real. They wouldn't say that.°  
•How do I Know they don't secretly think less of us..? They could be just putting on a mask and pretending to care about their job so they get paid.•  
°..... It's not true Nicky don't even start.°  
Urrh.... I wince and move a bit further along the floor. This Has to be a dream. Why would I be sneaking out? What am I Doing?  
The fact I can't answer or stop myself, the words of the voices, tells me it's a dream. I look at my feet and realise they're bare. I don't remember putting on pajamas either. Since when...?  
Has to be a dream.  
But I continue anyway.  
Crouching and moving tightly along the wall of the staffs room, I'm heading for the hallway out of the...dorms? Why I don't know.  
A door creaks behind me and I suddenly hear someone screaming and shouting  
"BEHIND THERE! BEHIND THERE!!"  
I rush off without even looking behind to see what was happening or who was shouting. I stumble under my rapid feet in the dark and feel like I'm going into a deeper void of nothing. The shadows on the darks walls ripple and warp under me as I slow in a place I don't recognise. Feeling weak and kind of dizzy as the figures swim. A numbing sensation starting in my arms has begun spreading to my other limbs. I stumble backwards and sideways trying to catch myself and feel a ghostly grip on me. Pulling and steadying me. I mumble and feel steady still, the ghost shakes me and that makes it worse. I feel ill.  
"Nicholas."  
Huh..? Since when does my brain call me Nicholas?  
-ugh-- I feel the ghost shaking me harder and it's really unpleasant. "Ugh...Stop..."  
I can't stand anymore and thought that'd make it leave me but it doesn't, just when I'm about to tell it I can't go anywhere I hear and feel a hard smack on my face bringing my senses back instantly  
"AUGH! SON Of a---"  
Something clamps my mouth and I open my eyes startled to see Mr Peterson staring back at me with his hand over my mouth.  
I go to freak out but a bunch of things suddenly occur to me at once, I'm still knees to the floor, Mr Peterson is half-crouched in front of me staring at me widely, the hall is more realistic---I think near the front? My body is still half-asleep but I'm not in pajamas.  
Mr Peterson snaps his head to the side scanning the area quickly and tugs me upwards. There's only partial feeling in my legs but my head is clearer, I force his hand off my mouth and he immediately gives me a 'Shush' gesture, looking paranoid and quickly begins to move.  
I don't know why I'm following him like it's a good idea. But I realise I was probably sleep-wandering again. Forgot to mention that to them when I checked in. Why Mr Peterson was out here this late though I have no idea.  
\-------------------------  
"Dude, there's nobody here."  
I swear I don't hear anything, when we've gone to another section of the hospital and frankly since the dorms are back the other way I'm not liking this excess wandering now that I'm awake.  
I get a little frustrated remembering he can't hear me, let alone if I whisper to his back. I touch his shoulder and he whips around fast, I put up my hands 'white-flagging' and try again.  
"There's Noone here."  
Why are we sneaking around further?  
I point to my right ear and slice my left hand across my throat hoping it'll convey no noise.  
Mr Peterson tilts his head and I feel like that's not the message he gets as he looks back into the dark spaces.  
I put a hand over my face trying to think of how to communicate with him. It probably isn't reasonable that we're out here.  
"What are you doing?"  
I don't even really voice the words so much as just mouth them, he doesn't answer looking to his left and glancing right like he's still paranoid. I touch him again. More of a tap because I'm getting annoyed with needing attention. "Why are we out here?"  
"You were. In your sleep, wandering."  
He finally replies, though that much I already figured.  
"Why are You here?"  
That's MY explanation, what's HIS excuse?  
"Rrmn.."  
I don't like this. Let me just get back to my room. I'll have to sneak by but if I can do it somehow while I'm asleep I can do it awake. Or is there something here? Why did I leave?  
Don't, Question it, Nicky.  
Just get out of this.  
Whatever he's Doing it's not my business to share with because it'll probably lead to trouble.  
I go to turn back around and he stops me.  
"What??"  
I think he sees that I'm mad, (and confused, and anxious.) Pulling back on whatever he was going on about and looks away from me.  
"....Shotgun."  
..........I stare. What does he mean----  
Pictures of a person going around with a shotgun start filling my head. Maybe the sense or a noise from it woke my body and led me to wander or I went the wrong way from everyone else. I panic. Now I look over my shoulders. I hadn't HEARD anything that'd suggest something like that was going on but maybe that was the point. Like those 'Code-Red' drills at school where they tell you to buckle down, be quiet and make yourself not there.  
Now 90% convinced there is someone here with a gun I look at Mr Peterson desperately trying to make sense of this. I make a motion like I'm holding a gun and then turn out my hand asking what/why?  
He looks at me blankly then seems confused and looks at me like I'm the weirdo. Groaning and changing his tactic.  
"Go to bed." He motions me off.  
"What-??"  
"Grr...."  
He gets up frustrated with me and walks off the way he'd been going.  
I don't understand any of this.  
Did he NOT mean there's a dude with a shotgun?  
Or am I going to go walking back into danger of Getting Shot??  
Oh my god.  
Groaning I head in the opposite direction and hope I can find my way back to the rooms. Without dying or being spotted. I figure there's not really a gun-wielding killer, but my mind isn't convinced of that.  
When I reach the general area I'm weary of trying to get back inside. How did I even get out of there if there wasn't something going on?  
Dread filled I drop to the ground and start sneaking my way around the hall. That's how I did it in my dream, so maybe that's what I did in real life?  
Where's my room even?  
I hear people still here. Some staff are speaking but not as loudly as earlier (in the dream), when I hear someone snoring I know there isn't a 'Code-Red', as much as it feels like one with all this sneaking around I've been doing.  
I open the door to my room very quietly trying not to make a noise.  
For the life of me I still don't know why I left to begin with, and I collapse onto the bed exhausted.  
2 minutes if it later I'm flying off it when the door opens in and a nurse comes through.  
"Nicholas?"  
"Whuh??"  
I gasp disoriented from hitting my arm and head on the table and stare up at her from the floor.  
"Where did you get off to?"  
"Hunh?"  
It occurs to me there must be an alert on the doors that tells them when a patient opens their door.  
I struggle to find words.  
"I.....uh.....Was....Looking for the bathroom."  
Yeah.  
"....."  
I don't know if she believes me but she doesn't ask again, instead it's;  
"Are you alright?"  
"Yo-I'm fine you just Startled me."  
She lets it go for tonight.  
Probably since I'm not noted as a full psychiatric patient. But I don't think she'll let it go so easy a second time.


	8. AdEnthral (pt2)

At 7:00 again nurses come around waking everyone up and reminding them that breakfast is at 7:30. Half an hour.  
I groan getting up from bed.  
Last night was pretty crazy. I know I've always had problem with wandering awake And Asleep.  
But I can't believe I actually made it past staffing last night and ended up near the lobby.  
And for what reason? My mind often pushes me to places if there's something there or that it wonders about. But I have no idea what that was about.  
And Mr Peterson--- In some way I'm glad that he saw and woke me but what was he doing out at that time of the night? I didn't get any answers and it was all So confusing. Not being able to understand each other (well, Barely.) And his behaviour-- mentioning something about a 'shotgun', and making my PPD go crazy that there was a gunman running around here.  
Ugh. I feel like flopping back down on the bed. Dreading the day if I'm already starting it this worn out. I take a breath in and breathe out. Hoping it'll calm my nerves. I'm tempted to just break in and ask for meds but I pass it off and shake my head. Taking another breath.  
New day.  
Just don't focus on it. Forget about it.  
\-------------------  
Everyone meets in the cafeteria kitchen and a type of cereal with orange is being served. I can't remember the last time I ate an orange.  
The tables are more like picnic benches, and the counters like a home setup just with more stuff on them, and more people. I focus alot more on the environment this morning than the others. Still trying to de-stress.

The decor in the hospital is surprisingly homey, so is the colours and drapes. Maybe it's to help patients feel more at ease, like how I'm looking around for ease. Or because to some people this IS their home.  
.........I've noticed alot of orange. As a preference colour.  
\-----------  
We have our 'Community Meeting' at 8:30 a.m., the carpets are a medium dark blue. The carpets and mid-dark greens make up the dominant colours of this room. We all sit in a circular arrangement, once again going over rules, and then sharing something about each other.  
I shut out alot of the chat today, and afterwards take myself to the library with my books and take a seat there.  
I'm not in a social mood today to be around alot of other depressed, or angry, confused, or sensitive patients who I don't know.  
Maybe I won't be a good fit for this type of job if I'm this flip floppy in my opinions.  
After last night I'm also much more invested in the sign language book I borrowed from the public library, and that's mainly what I spend my time reading and studying. It's a good distance from the topics of this place.  
I stay until I have to go to 'Process Group' with the others to meet the social workers. We watch short videos and they ask us to analyse the characters behaviour and actions. Whether they did the right thing, how you think they felt, and what you would have done in a similar situation, etc. We write down all our answers and go through them together.  
12:30 is lunch. I wouldn't have aten it, because I'm not really hungry, but I don't want them to think I'm Anorexic. So I do anyway. Then I return to the library, since the next schedule I have to be at is a little over 2 hours away from now. I go back to reading.  
And I make the dreadful realisation that I can detect Mr Petersons footsteps by their pattern.  
I can tell that it's his footsteps that I'm hearing. One step is Louder than the other, and there's a bit of a delay between the two. It almost sounds like a heartbeat. Maybe that's why I can recognise it.  
I groan either way, kind of dreading the awkwardness after our interaction last night, and put away my library book. I refuse to be scared of him and turn my head as I sense him closer.  
"Hey."  
He gives me that blank stare for a few moments before awkwardly lifting a grimace-like smile.  
"Hello."  
Moving my gesture from him to the other chair I ask;  
"You going to sit?"  
I think I'm actually making Him uncomfortable somehow by Not being uncomfortable.  
Weird paradox.  
"Mm.."  
We both sit in silence for a few minutes but I'm not feeling Too bad. As much as he is awkward. I was going to ask until he does first,  
"How you. Made it back in?"  
"..It was fine."  
"......"  
Not like yesterday, today he doesn't say much to me.  
Maybe we're all in gloom moods today.  
"Hhh...." I sigh putting my hand to my head debating if I even want to go into this subject, but I do.  
'When you said 'shotgun' last night what did you mean?' I write, he growls murmuredly and writes back, 'I just meant for you to be careful.'  
.............. It's officially confirmed to me that Mr Peterson does speak a totally different language from standard. I have NEVER In my Life heard someone say 'shotgun' to mean 'be careful'.  
I write this down too.  
'honestly I thought you meant you'd seen a guy with a gun running around.'  
He laughs but sounds nervous.  
\----Wait a minute.--- I think to myself. ---If it wasn't a 'code-red' why was he out there? And where did he think I was going? To try not to seem too direct I phrase it more like;  
'What was I doing out there?'  
"Wandering. Like a cat that's blindfolded."  
............I mean, in a way I'm glad he stopped me, but,  
'I do anything else?'  
"What do you think you did?"  
'I don't know.'  
"Hmm..."  
It doesn't seem like Mr Peterson is going to tell me much. So I decide to just leave the subject alone before we both get annoyed which seems likely at this point.  
I stretch and glance at my wrist, then remember I had to give David my watch when I got admitted.  
I feel like when I glance back at Mr Peterson he'd been staring at me again because he looks away quickly.  
According to my brain that's high proof that 'He's plotting to get you. You're like prime ground beef to him.'  
"Uhh..."  
Whatever that means NO.  
But now I can't shake the feeling.  
Mr Peterson growls disturbed and I feel like he can sense my thoughts and that's why. I do probably feel disturbing.  
\--------  
2:30 is 'Education Group' time, and I listen to some doctor describe Anxiety and it's affects in medical settings. She also talks about Dementia and dealing with people who have hallucinations.  
I decide to take some notes on this and wonder if there's going to be anything on my 3rd day about Paranoid Personality Disorder.  
\--------------  
I feel like going back to sleep honestly, because of this lack of energy, but that won't fit well with my (supposed) 'research-student' image. I feel like throwing in the towel and admitting I have my own issues, but I don't mention it.  
They have patients set goals to do this or that, (between the meetings) whether it be activities, laundry, dishes or simply finishing a book.  
I'm avoiding Mr Peterson-- Or trying to, I think, because I've chosen to go wandering around the facility, poking my head into the different rooms. Thinking about things, all kinds of things, What stories these places have to tell. What might've happened here.  
They call a 'CODE-ONE!' Over the P.A. as a schizophrenic screams and is lashing out.  
Those must be regular occurences here.  
"Geez...."  
I think I'm by myself in the hall of... Strangely familiar interior design and colour pattern, until I hear someone coming, I know by their footsteps it's not Mr Peterson.  
It was Emily. She doesn't have visitors I guess if she's wandering like me.  
"Admiring the walls?" She asks,  
"I...uh...Sure."  
Trying to sound less crazy I add in;  
"Hadn't thought they'd be this...uh...Colourful."  
It's not a lie, I'd pictured more doom and gloom, or white walls, not interior decorating.  
"Horrid Fer the eyes."  
Emily remarks, she's got a similar dead look on her face, with dark circles under her eyes.  
I wonder is she talks to me because I have the same expression sometimes.  
Maybe she's just friendly? She doesn't look it.  
\--------------  
I end up talking with Emily for awhile, even though she does more of it then I do. Compared to some other patients I've seen she seems pretty chill.  
"I've been here for like. 2 weeks."  
She'd said. "Couldn't go anywhere the first week."  
"......" It feels like I might be risking catching my hair on fire but I can't help asking;  
"Why not?"  
"Oh. I might've killed somebody."  
She says it so plain.  
I look at her with equally dead eyes. Blank. And stop, as we'd been walking.  
"You...."  
"It happens, right?"  
"..uhh...."  
I don't feel comfortable but I shrug and agree with her,  
"I guess..."  
\----------  
At 6:00 we all meet in the cafeteria for dinner. They're serving over-roasted vegetables.  
"Did you forget how to cook?" One man remarks unimpressed.  
(Though I don't think it's that bad.)  
"Maybe you'd like to consider volunteering?"  
The staff are quick to respond mildly. If he's gonna quip he should be ready for quip-back. He's not, really.  
And gets mad, going off on a rant. So there was that.  
.......I don't think the vegetables were the only thing over-cooked at this dinner.

\---------

I really hope to just sleep tonight and not wander anywhere. Tempting to tell the staff I have some chronic sleep conditions and ask for restraints.  
\--------  
And I regret I didn't ask them because I think they're concerned about me.  
My clever 'Only a Student' ruse has been seen through.  
They bring me aside after breakfast privately to ask if I have any history of mental illness diagnosis or treatment.  
"Uhh......" I look away from them, shrugging a shoulder but my incredibly delayed reaction time already sank any chance I had in lying.  
"Maybe.."  
"Have you considered getting a reassessment?"  
Yep. They definately think I'm a case.  
"...Why?"  
I'd been trying to sort it out on my own honestly. The last doctor I went to see charged me alot of money. And I don't have any money.  
Besides....I have a paper route to deliver the end of next week and my courses I signed up for online. I can't be staying in a mental hospital.  
They say they've noticed signs.  
They say they're concerned about me.  
•Why would they be concerned about You? What do They Care? Is there something they're trying to get?•  
It's their job, Sat. They work with mental health patients because they Care.  
•Or because they know they're vulnerable?•  
Ugh.  
"I'm, Paranoid." I admit, not meeting their eyes that I swear will be judging me. Squeezing my arm a bit tighter.  
"Paranoid personality."  
That's all I'll say, because that's for sure the most dominant. In every waking minute.  
Even now,  
•Why are you speaking to them? They're going to lock you up and say you're crazy.•  
..............  
•Do they see it in my face? Have they known all along that I smell funny? That I can't think straight? Can they See my thoughts?•  
I sigh trying not to pay the voice any mind, but it's always there. It can be hard staying oblivious.  
A part of me knows they understand and are willing to offer a hand with trying to help but the other part of me doesn't believe for a second it's not suspicious. That it's 'safe'.  
Trust doesn't come easy.  
The staff tell me to give them my thoughts tomorrow after I've had time to think about it.  
I don't know what's supposed to be different from now until then but I just say 'okay' and leave them.  
\--------  
Ugh. The real downside here is that they make you eat lunch not even 5 hours away from breakfast.  
I'm joined in the cafeteria this time by Emily, she's also really thin. And I guess another thing we have in common is not understanding the meal times.  
"It can't be healthy." She remarks. "Like. How the Fuck do they expect you'd be hungry?"  
"I don't know."  
Honestly I can't imagine being hungry right now. I'm just not used to it.  
"We should throw a protest eh?"  
She suggests,  
"Uhh..."  
"Take our food and we throw it at the ground all together if they don't let you pass up."  
"....I don't know if that's a good idea.."  
I get the feeling she's not kidding.  
"Neither is stuffing you up like you not gonna get sick from it."  
She thumbs backwards to the crying girl.  
"Feel sorry for Rachel over there."  
........  
So that period pretty much revolved around protests and eating too much. And how the staff don't know much about timing healthy eating schedules. Then a forray into the •'The staff are trying to kill us/sabotage our health level'• Conspiracy theories.  
.........I realise I don't want much to do with this uprising if it does take place. I'm just glad it didn't escalate into insanity Today. I'd feel bad for the staff really, they're trying.  
\---------------  
Instead of going outside, we get to choose between helping with dishes/cleanup or waiting for Education to begin. I'd been hoping for a PPD session but they talk about Schizophrenia.  
I make notes of it anyway, knowledge is knowledge.  
\----------------  
I haven't seen Mr Peterson all day. Considering the fact he lived here, you'd think you might see him more often, at least once, but no.  
I guess the staff hadn't been exaggerating their surprise (even suspicion) about me coming here, and then it being noted he talked to me. I guess he really Doesn't speak with anyone else.  
........I mean, I'm awkward myself but I at least try to talk with people. Sorta. I can't imagine spending years not doing it anyway. Wouldn't you be unable to talk after that? Doesn't that mean he must say something to somebody? On occasion? I don't know.  
I decide to look for him after Education group.  
We'd started to be on pretty goods terms-- I think.-- Before that night situation. I don't even want to think about that.  
\----------  
While I was looking, I heard voices from the hall up ahead, and then froze in place as that long haired dude like me came skidding around the corner running frantically like he was afraid of something. I expect to see another giving chase or hear a Code-One being called shortly.  
Then there wasn't, and I remember there were two voices. Yet it was only him who fled. I hear ragged sighing from ahead and think I recognise who the other is. So I swallow and make my way up the rest of the hall to where-- John, had been running from.  
I'm a little perplexed by what I see.  
Mr Peterson squints and holds a phone to his left ear, I can hear someone shouting from the other end from here. He seems really troubled.  
"I-- Don't Know..."  
*Angry screaming*  
"He just--- I Can't settle it. Goodbye."  
He hangs up the phone exhausted with whatever it'd been, running his hands over his face groaning.  
He seems startled when he notices me at first but after a second seems to re-register who I was.  
I glance back the way John had went running unsurely and questioningly point from him to that way down the hall.  
Mr Peterson doesn't say anything. And turns his gaze back from me.  
I flinch hearing the P.A. come on with the Code-One! Alert about him being on the run. (And apparently kind of violent)  
"Do you know why he was running?"  
I ask, realising he's not in the mindset to be figuring out more words, by the look of frustration that passes through him.  
I worry I'm about to help cause a second 'Code-One' as Mr Peterson twitches, not really looking at me and makes strange noises. Tensing his arms and fingers. Either he's working around an answer or trying not to lash out at me.  
He finally stills and just exhales exhaustedly.  
I feel kind of bad and offer him my writing book, I think he appreciates it more than anything and takes it readily, quickly scratching down a message.  
'He's Run Off Again. They put me with That Raccoon and all he Does is Worry about This or That.'  
He's so mad he scribbles a bunch of angry shades onto the page before handing it over.  
Yikes.  
I turn the page and write back;  
'They sounded the alarm about him. His name's John right? Why did he run away?'  
"mmHh...."  
Mr Peterson groans and I think he'd really not try to describe or discuss John's reasoning or mindset.  
He becomes very uneasy.  
"They're going to Blame me--"  
He chokes aloud staring at his hands, "I know it. They'll Blame me that he run off, he'll come up with some-- Story and--' I let him Run off. I shouldn't have--"  
He's losing it, he starts beating his head.  
"Hey--Hey--" I grab Mr Petersons arm without thinking, "Just calm down okay?"  
He doesn't 'calm Down', so much as he has a reeling backlash of frustration. That literally radiates so strong I feel like I'm pressured.  
He makes a strangled noise and curls his fingers clawed so tightly his hands shake, but I let go feeling like I can trust that he's not just gonna turn into a wolverine immediately. I write down;  
'I'll help you with John.'  
"Hnhh?"  
'When the staff ask about it I'll tell them I was here and that he just ran off on his own. It'll be fine.'  
He stares at me uncertain. He probably can't believe or understand why I'd offer to do that. But I think he's relieved I did.  
I'm honestly surprised I had the sense too, to respond so quickly and straight.  
The staff must've gotten John and calmed him down (a bit) from-- Whatever made him freak out to begin with. Mr Peterson calls him a 'Raccoon', and claims he's constantly worrying about things, so that seems to leave the options wide open.  
I figured the staff might have assigned them to be together or for Mr Peterson to watch John, that's one of the reasons why they needed to ask him about what happened. I'd honestly wondered how they were going to do that, and apparently one of the nurses secondary jobs is interpreting Sign.  
I roughly assume she reminds and questions him that he 'was supposed to be responsible for keeping an eye on John'. Probably.  
Mr Peterson grunts and nods his head slightly.  
Now I assume she's asking 'what happened?'  
"........He....."  
Lifting a hand he thinks for a moment, and I'm not sure what he reluctantly says back to her, but I don't doubt that trying to give an explanation as to why a hyper-paranoid schizophrenic would suddenly freak out wasn't the easiest thing in the world.  
"He had been using the phone."  
The nurse says, and I realise she's relaying what Mr Peterson says to the other male staff-worker. Who asks, and she interprets;  
"Why didn't you stop him from running?"  
"Mmh...."  
I can see he dreads the question and apparently answers;  
"He told me to handle the rest of it. Phone conversation."  
He pauses in thought with right hand raised like he debates another thought but gives up.  
"John tells us you were going to kill him."  
I'm surprised somehow by the statement, but more so that to it Mr Peterson just looks defeated.  
"He--" I start to answer, "He's not telling the truth."  
"Mr Roth if you'd mind your own business."  
The staff remark,  
"But--" I hold my arm unsure as well. I really don't think that's what happened.  
"I did not." Mr Peterson replies.  
"Yet you didn't stop him when he ran?"  
"....mmrh..."  
I see he's getting uneasy again and feel it's only a matter of moments before he goes back to punching himself in the face or does something rash. The staff might've said not to talk, but I was here.  
"I saw what happened."  
"What did you see then?"  
With a lack of answer from Mr Peterson they decide to give me a chance I guess.  
"John handed him the phone and then freaked out. Maybe it was something that they had said, he went running down the hall right after. I think Mr Peterson was just confused. It's not the other patients job to keep someone in check. They have a hard enough time doing that themself, so its not his fault."  
They look at me a little weird, or at least to me it seems weird because I'm surprised by my own speech.  
I actually persuaded them.  
I said something right.  
I just hope I WAS right about him not doing anything.  
"Hh--" I stiffen as Mr Peterson grabs me after they were gone. I stop breathing for a few seconds as he hugs me, firmly pressing against my chest.  
........Never was good with personal space.  
"Uhh...." Thoroughly uncomfortable, I'm hoping he'll let go of me as I start to lose feeling in my arms.  
I also start to get the impression Mr Peterson would rather not let go so soon, and is enjoying hugging me.  
It's kinda creepy.  
I try to move back tempted to shove him away.  
"Sir?" Could you let go of me? Please? Sir.  
I move again and finally he gets the message. It hurts the way he prys his hands off roughly. Growling and looking away from me.  
For a second I wonder how somebody can be so happy and content one second and then turn instantly grumpy and maybe aggressive.  
\------------------  
That was, awkward, earlier. Luckily we/I got saved by the rememberence that I have to meet with the other short term patients for Education group. (So I have an excuse to get going)  
Mr Peterson doesn't keep me from leaving, but after I have I still feel the lingering awkward sensation from him hugging me. I try to shake it off on my way there.  
\----------------  
Yes. Almost excited but settling for interested l find out today they're talking about Paranoid Personality Disorder. I don't hesitate to take notes on this topic for sure.  
\-----------------  
Emily locates me after the meeting was over, asking what I planned on doing before dinner, I have to admit I'm not sure. I still don't get why she keeps coming to talk to me, but I guess it's okay.  
Or I thought so until we pass Mr Peterson in the hallway. He gives me and her an intrigued look-over with this odd smirk on his face.  
Oh God. I think to myself at what he might be thinking, as he gives me an awkward wave of his fingers.  
I am SO glad he didn't pause there, stare, or say anything. As for one Emily is already looking disgusted.  
"Ugh." She remarks after he'd passed, "Guys a creep."  
"....." It was ironic I was asking, but I did.  
"What makes you say that?"  
"I hear he's been here so long they've started to think of him as some sort of 'Neighbour' to the other patients. Cause he's been here so long it's like his Home."  
".....How is that creepy?"  
Maybe a little weird, but I could think of worse.  
"That's not it." She replies, "I've done my research too."  
"Research..?"  
"If I'm gonna be stayin in some place, you better bet I'm gonna see what sorta loonies are in here with me."  
I think I already know where she's going with this, yet I still follow as Emily continues walking, I'd been spot on about her 'research' methods.  
"Figure a little record-searching wouldn't hurt nobody." She explains, "Guy's a creepy Pedo."  
"......" I stop, and she notices, then looks at me serious about her statement, she thinks I didn't believe her. She has no idea. Holding my arm I admit straightly, "I know."  
I just want her to drop it.  
" I used to live across the street from him."  
She looks at me different now. Emily's one of the smarter patients I can tell, because she's already taking my looks (age) now and how much time had passed since Mr Peterson was sent here. I wasn't going to tell her anything but I think she has an awful realisation now that I've said that.  
"Oh my god, I didn't..."  
She must see my discomfort.  
"Are you serious??" She looks back down the hall like she'd throw knives at him if he were still here.  
"It's not a big deal." I insist, because that's exactly what I've been working on.  
"He just...I'm fine with him now."  
It was weird to be saying this in a way, because I never have said it outloud. Emily looks at me like I'm crazy, and, like, she is too-- with disbelief.  
"WHATDYA MEAN You FINE With Him?!? What the Heck Nick? I thought you was one of the Straighter heads here!"  
'Straighter heads'? Me? I'm honestly surprised she'd think that, even if I Was supposed to be studying the place.  
"Huh..." My mouth moves slightly upwards at the weird thought.  
"...Thanks, I guess."  
"......" I feel like Emily's more wary about me after I admitted both that I used to live across from Mr Peterson and am now 'Fine with him'. She clearly doesn't like him or think he's as 'good' of a patient as 'the staff like to think'.  
I think she might have paranoia too.  
\------------------  
We all meet at the cafeteria at 6 for dinner, they serve beef and a side of vegetables. Who knows when the last time I ate beef was, I don't even know what it tastes like.  
Emily doesn't talk to me through this hour, and I can't help but wonder if I've scared or weirded her off with what I said. Maybe she just didn't want to though. But I always think the worst. Figures, even in a mental place I can't manage to keep friends.

\------------

It was after Closure Group when we were let on 'Free-time' that a thought panned into my head, from what Emily said earlier. She claimed to have done her research on patients that were here. Her research had concluded that Mr Peterson was 'a creepy pedo.' After I told her my thing she'd had some big dawning.  
Now I'm suddenly fearful she knows about me. I don't know why that scares me but I can't stop thinking--- What if she knows what happened? Does the article mention Me?  
Worry suddenly fills my chest and I have to ask her. Locating Emily in the rec room away from the others I have to ask her.  
"What do you want?" She says like she's no longer interested.  
"Listen-- Emily, uh... About that research you did-- on Mr Peterson..."  
"Theodore?"  
"Yeah..."  
"What about it?"  
"Well.. What did you...Find, exactly?"  
She puts a hand under her cheek probably wondering why I'm asking if I'd supposedly lived across the street from him.  
She swears, I think amused, and tells me to sit down, I do. She keeps her voice low.  
"Look, I just found out he's a Weirdo, alright? Some news about him being arrested for kidnapping children and keeping em in his Basement."  
"..............."  
"I didn't realise you were the 'Nicky Roth' they said had been missing and turned up from him. Okay? I'm sorry if I said something that triggers you."  
"....."  
So she did know.  
I take a deep breath.  
"No. I've. Been trying to get over it. It doesn't, 'trigger' me." Anymore.  
"If you say so."  
Emily half murmurs, and somehow I knew she was going to ask again, confused;  
"...But that don't explain why you good with him now."  
"That's....A long explanation."  
And I'm not willing to share any of it. She doesn't need to know.  
"Huh." She seems skeptic. "My Ma would treat me like shit. And I didn't never forgive her. You tellin me you forgive him?"  
So that's it...  
"...I...Uh...."  
I don't know. Like....  
"In, a way. I'm over it."  
Like that's what I feel. It was in the past, you know? I've learned from it.  
"....." Emily stares at me still skeptical,and then just shakes her head, looking away.  
"Can't understand that. But whatev. Not my business."  
I wish I could tell myself that sometimes.  
"But then I doubt I'm as good as you." She adds, which I'm surprisingly quick to respond to.  
"You're probably not a bad person."  
"......You don't know that, Nick."  
".............."  
We sit in silence for the rest of the period, until night Meds are being given out. And everyone's encouraged to relax before bed.


	9. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to... The Neighbourhood?

"Nicholas."  
"?" I turn around and stagger seeing Mr Peterson running towards me.  
I'm instinctive to start heading the other way but he stops feet from me and gestures out a hand gingerly.  
"Thank you."  
"....For--What?"  
I can't help but ask a little taken aback.  
"Your help."  
................................I have no idea what he's talking about. ("What did I do?") Is what I want to say, but I try to think of a better way to word it, he doesn't.  
"Double over, Red clover, I get to leave the Closure."  
"...WHAT?"  
My heart beats faster, he must be hallucinating. Or I misheard him (possibility). A chill runs through me at the thought of it.  
"They said I could and Would go back to living the outside worl."  
........Why does that Scare me. I should be...Happy for him, right...?  
So why does it....  
I put my hand up a moment to get my notebook and skeptically write,  
"What does that have to do with me?"  
Even it it Were true.  
"You helped."  
Is all he'll say.  
I'm not sure why but I still feel a deep fear from the thought of Mr Peterson being 'outside' again. It was different having known he was here.  
After I was alone, I Have to go check with reception to see if it was true. What if he was planning an escape and had come to 'thank me' for not telling anyone? Well I'm telling someone.  
I was/am a frequent visitor of his the last month(s) so they'd tell me if something was up, wouldn't they?  
"Is Mr Peterson being, released from here?"  
I ask David, hoping he'll know it's some crazy delusion. His answer freezes me.  
"Yep. He'll be moving into the new home by next week."  
..............  
It wasn't a delusion. It WASN'T an escape plan. They're really letting him out.  
"We decided he should be manageable in an outside home after seeing Your interactions specifically with him Nicky."  
........Because I, a former Victim, had developed a confidence and trust in coming here.  
And because I, a former Victim, could speak to him, and he would speak to me. And he'd not harmed me. (Since my visits)  
I helped qualify Mr Peterson for release.  
Even if I hadn't realised it.  
\------  
"Are you sure he's....Ready?"  
I ask uneasy, trying not to sound too incriminating.  
"I mean..."  
"Of course, we have to make sure they agree."  
"But is he..Like...." I hold my arm in discomfort but can't find any other way to say it.  
"Is he...Able to function? Like...He won't, Re-offend?"  
He hadn't been here just for being crazy. He'd been here on criminal charges.  
David doesn't know the whole details of my story with him but I'm sure he realises why I might be uneasy. He takes a breath.  
"We've put him through rehabilitation aimed to convert those, feelings, and make them understand their behaviour. Nicky."  
".....And you're sure it worked?"  
I can't help but be suspicious and David doesn't fault me for it.  
"He's aware of how it's harmful and the immoral aspects." He says in answer, "We Don't think he is a threat to acting on it."  
".................."  
•Nobody thought he was to blame or a threat before either. Even after I found suspicious evidence. Nobody believed me.•  
I try to tell myself it's different now. That I'm just going backwards and missing factors. That he's changed. That the doctors know what their doing.  
But my uneasy skepticism can't be changed. Not completely, it's just a part of who I am.  
I try to vilify my unease by going to see Mr Peterson and try talking to him about being let free. (In a less, uh...Conspicuous, way than that.)  
He's definately for the idea, and anxious to be out of here, I can tell even if he doesn't say so.  
"Do you know where you're going to be?"  
(Does he know his old house burnt down?)  
"Hhhhh......."  
I think he's so anxious he can't word anymore. He's literally shaking, and takes my book and answers me in writing, a shiny gleem in his eyes.  
'I haven't seen it yet, but they tell me it's a blue place. With multiple residents.'  
"Multiple residents?"  
So he's not going to be living alone then? I mean--- I guess that makes sense, but...  
Mr Peterson half growls, with a weird, displeased yet excited look on his face.  
"I don't look forward to meeting them."  
Why do I get the feeling he's nervously considering the possibilities of murder arising from living with strangers?  
'but aren't you Used to living around people?'  
I write, Like, the hospital has probably More people coming in and out.  
He groans unsurely not looking at me.  
I guess though, to be fair, I'd be pretty uneasy too if I was going to be sent to live in some house with people I don't know. Who are assumably also former mental health stay residents, with their own sets of issues.  
It's different when you've got more rules and enforcement.  
I decide to look for another question, after admitting I'd be nervous too.  
'So what are you looking forward too?'  
".....Going outside...Doing what I Want. When I want."  
He slams a hand down with tense excited gestures, he looks wild. "You don't know how it's been watched and Chained here for Every Minute."  
......I get unerved by his equally unhinging behaviour.  
Wondering if that's an indicator for how he much he shouldn't be going out there or if it's just stress that'll wear off. Hopefully it's the second. I really hope it's the second. 

\-------------------------

Honestly, being curious, I needed to know where they were sending Mr Peterson. I feel like I already know that I'll be still keeping an eye on/in touch with him. So I use it as my reasoning for knowing.  
The house is quite large. About 5/6 stories. With its floors sharing different residents spaces, so they won't need to share the same living space exactly.  
It's an older make, probably been here for decades. The doors look like they'd make a pretty loud noise when you opened them. And I get the impression they'll still be regulated by mental health staffing, probably a nurse and someone will visit on a periodic basis. Just not be there 24/7.

[IMG=FON]  
\--------------------------

Weeks later, the negative half of my self is not happy.  
•Why don't you just leave it alone? Nicky? Haven't you gotten the Confidence you wanted already? You don't Need to- 'Keep in touch with him.'•  
I'm, Okay with it.  
•No you're not. And the Staff are Idiots for letting him out of there.•  
°His charges were probably filled. They aren't going to keep him forever.°  
• They Should. He's still sick. You saw him literally beat his own face.•  
° They think he's manageable. And it isn't Our business. I just... Want to make sure. And...°  
• So YOU'RE Suspicious too.•  
°.....No, I don't mind him anymore. And, I don't want him to hurt anybody.°  
•So you Are suspicious then. Don't keep denying it by just trying to call him your 'Friend' ugh.•  
°...I'm just worried.°

\-----------------

I take online classes, and continue with my paper route job, but I'm looking for something more. Something else. It's weird thinking Mr Peterson isn't under security anymore. And I think I'm still scared of him. For that to bother me at all I must be. In some way.  
I won't admit I'm a little envious too. He gets to go live in a big house again (with furniture) and I'm still stuck in my barely ammenitable old house. At least theirs is in a state of repair. There's not paint chipping off every wall Everywhere. Their electricity seems to all work....  
I wouldn't want the roomate though.  
Apparently they sent John to live there as well.  
So maybe I'm not Too envious.  
\---------  
\------------------ I feel like I'm dreaming. I don't remember coming here. Where's my car? I hide in the shadows of the tree outside the big Blue House, I hear noises.  
Like footsteps. Too loud for their distance. Murmured voices. And pacing. John is rambling.  
"What if food is actually poisonous because the government wants to kill us. I saw a little speck on the banana. What if it was injected with AIDS."  
He goes on and on about all different things. I see shadows move largely across the walls. Scanning the building and its window with binoculars, it must be a dream if I can hear him so clearly from out here.  
"They say, Stone thee that doesn'th believe. Dasheth thee across the shores, Blood and slaughter them before the Lord."  
What the hell...?  
"Don't you agree? Don't you agree? Why don't you listen to me. Why don't you see."  
"John..."  
I see the shadow of Mr Peterson grab the taller man tightly to the ground, struggling against his shaky panicked resistance.  
"Your Cursed by God. You're plotting to Get Me. You Must be. You MUST BE."  
I see the writhing shadows and hear struggling.  
A man howling and heavy breaths.  
I hear screaming and move against my wills. Towards the blue house.  
I believe they're fighting. I worry that they'll kill each other. Why I bring Myself into this I don't know.  
pressing in on one of the front doors it opens inwards with an old creak. It's dark in here. The light is dim. I leave the door open to let in the rays from sunset and cautiously move in. Everything's gone silent. Eerily dead. I try not to make a noise with my footsteps.  
".....Mr Peterson?" I ask, though I don't know why. Peeking around the living room corner, nothing.  
"...John?"  
I head for the stairs, seeing noone beyond the kitchen, and it'd been the upstairs where I'd seen the shadows. I make my way slowly starting to feel paralysed. Cocking my head around the upper floor my vision swims seeing a dark thing lurch over. A flicker of something laying on the floor, suddenly I'm dizzy, my balance fails falling backwards down the steps. My heart thumps faster and my body becoming numb. I lay on the floor unable to get up.  
"Why are you here?"  
A voice whispers, and I swear my heart caves into my chest, as I feel it approach.  
"What are you you doing here? Why are you here?"  
It repeats over and over in a harsh whisper. Until it's dead in my ear, and I feel like I'm being submerged under a pressure of gripping air.  
"WhY ArE YoU HERE."  
Sharp pain shoots through my side, I hear somebody scream. I scream.  
Sweating profusely and cold at the same time. My heart is still racing.  
Thank God I'm home but I don't know where I might've been.  
I pray I wasn't wandering across town or any of the places of my nightmare.  
I'm just glad that's what it'd been.  
Unsettling as it was, it was just a dream.  
Though it might mean something.  
"Ughhh....." Shivering I get up unsteadily, I can't let the neighbours see me out here. They'll think I'm a drunk or something for sure. Collapsed out here looking like this.  
I get inside stumbling, still reeling from my dream. My paranoia running high enough that I can't see straight.  
"Hhhhh..." I take in deep breaths putting my hand on the couch backing to steady myself and calm down. Whatever it was. It was a dream.  
Whatever it might mean, I'm Not dealing with it Right now.  
Just deep breaths and calm yourself down.  
My paranoia makes me go upstairs and check in all the rooms after I can see straight. Just to be sure there's Noone there.  
Noone here but me.  
"Hhhhh....."  
\---------------------------------  
I didn't mean to.  
After I'd calmed down and gotten breakfast, orange juice and toast-- sorted some things and went out. I didn't mean to run into him. I'd gone out for a walk, out of my normal way--- I think I'm being led subconsciously.-- I went to the park. It was just afternoon, I was passing by, hearing the kids playing, the sun was out, it was a nice day. I was starting to feel at ease again. And then I saw him.  
Under the tree shade, off to the side of the park was Mr Peterson, at the picnic bench. Staring at the kids who were playing over there.  
Despite the warmth of the sun I feel cold again. He looks so attentive, and focused on them. I'm scared to imagine what he was thinking about.  
They're not my kids. But I make myself go over to him. I Can't ignore this. I'm scared for the kids. In honesty I still don't trust him.  
He doesn't notice me until I'm right near, that's how focused he was. When Mr Peterson does notice me, at first he seems startled, awkward even.  
"Hh--Nicholas. Ah....Hello."  
He didn't expect to see me here. That much I gather.  
"Hey."  
I try to play it cool like I hadn't just gotten super suspicious and come over from it. Maybe I can distract him from the kids that had gripped his interest moments ago.  
"I usually go for walks."  
I say, having developed the habit of carrying around a notepad and pen just in case.  
"Mmm....mm..." He nods slightly, but his attention is still to the kids.  
I try to think of something else.  
'How's it going with the new house?'  
I'm literally at the point where I can sort of speak to Mr Peterson normally--well-- maybe it's partly because I'm writing most of it, but still.  
"Rrhn..." He groans a little reading it. "Good. Good. John's a... Bloody mess, but good."  
.......I still at his choice of words.  
My dream. The words.  
...........I think after my silence Mr Peterson realises how I interpreted it and seems nervous.  
"I didn't do nothin to him."  
He insists, eyes widening.  
"I swear I didn't. You can go check if you like he still there."  
He's paranoid. But....I believe him, somehow. I think because he wouldn't be telling me I could go there if he'd really done something. I doubt it anyway.  
'okay I believe you.'  
He looks like he's on the verge of an internal freak out now. And growls, I think, towards me.  
For ruining his peace.  
at least his attention is shifted away from the kids though. Which is what I'd needed to do. (For my own ease of mind really)  
"......." Mr Peterson drums his fingers on the table before getting up to stretch.  
I wonder if it actually helps.

\--------

I've been to the blue house a few times since Mr Peterson moved in. It struck me as kind of creepy.  
Like a heavy aura remained there from all the disturbed people and bad things that had been there over time. It's an old building, and that's the aura it gives, even from a distance actually.  
I don't know if I'm the only one to sense it.  
It's not on a main Street. The road isn't even paved, it's just a wide strip of dirt and grass.  
\---------------------  
"Emily?"  
I hadn't expected to see Her here. I'd been on my way there through Ecanch street-- She doesn't look pleased to BE here either.  
"Oh hey Nick. D'you get sent here too?"  
She asks, nudging across the way towards the blue house.  
"Me? No, no. I have my own place."  
...It doesn't occur to me until after I've spoken what she means by 'sent here too'  
"They didn't send you HERE?"  
To live with Them?  
"No. GOD No." She points back towards the smaller yellow house across from it.  
"I get this one. Bad enough if ya ask me. I would've told em to screw it if they wanted me in there with Those guys."  
....No blame. Honestly.  
\-----------------  
Even though Emily doesn't seem to be the type to trust easily, she's alright with me. Maybe it's because I'm the same way.  
She brought me into the yellow house, saying she didn't want any weirdos staring at her and knowing she was out here. It's alot simpler. Probably for one person.  
"You think all the houses are for special cases?"  
I start to wonder,  
"I Hope they ain't." Emily admits, flipping her hands in the air, "There's No Way I want any more a them crazies around me."  
Yeah.....Guess it could be a little scary.  
"I just wanna live. Ya know?" She says straightly, "like I Appreciate the help but dang."  
She's clearly not happy with her luck, being placed across the street from Mr Peterson and John.  
"I HOPE It's better 'an Couch surfin."  
I feel for her. Really.  
"I hope it is too."  
I think she appreciates that I can get where she's coming from, instead of judging.  
Even if she doesn't like, or understand, that I might be visiting Mr Peterson, she doesn't mention it or keep it in mind. Emily must not have many friends either if she's willing to set that aside and still be friends with me.  
"So you livin good then?"  
"Uh...." I put my hand back on my neck, "I'm getting by." I wouldn't say 'great' but.... "Yeah.."  
It's about it.  
"Okay, okay." She nods, and seems to understand it might not be that 'ideal'.

\----------------------------

With Mr Peterson out of the facility, I put more focus into my education. Trying to make money and hopefully get started on something soon. I still visit with him to keep an eye on things, and I keep in touch with Emily too. She's turned out to be a good friend for me. So my time in AdEnthral as a patient wasn't a waste that I can see.  
I've made alot of progress the past few months, since I got evicted for not paying my rent. Alot of building and rebuilding. I'm almost on what I'd call 'good terms' with Mr Peterson. (Something I wouldn't have imagined before), I'm finally getting my education finished, and eyeing what I'll move onto after. I've learned stuff about people, and how they're different. I have a friend now, (who happens to be a girl) Emily. Things are going good. At least, better than they were in the years before.  
A month into it after her move on Ecanch though, Emily starts telling me these strange stories. How she's heard screaming.  
"---Banging late at night. I don't know what to do Nick."  
She's aware she lives across from clinically crazy people, and says she's tried reasoning that it's just him having some breakdown or doing something stupid. But, "Why does it have to be so late at night?"  
"....Have you tried getting earplugs?"  
I know it seems strange, and... I feel cheap for saying that, especially when Emily looks at me like she'd expected better.  
" Oh 'Have you tried getting Earplugs~?' " She mocks in a frantic tone. "Oh I don't KNOW Nick, Have I tried Not Being Scared??"  
"I'm sorry."  
It was really insensitive the way I'd phrased that, I admit. It hurt,  
"If you want-- I'll.. Try today asking him about it."  
"And what do you think he's gonna Tell you?"  
She figures it's not worth the trouble, but I decide I'm going to give it a try anyway.  
\------------  
When I tell Mr Peterson about the screams, I'm honestly not sure what I'm expecting from him-- To be nervous, for him to be Suspicious, for him to be Mad, I don't know. For all I know he could be Causing the screams, or he might not even hear it. Because I don't know if he hears screams.  
He doesn't seem really, troubled, when I ask-- and I mention I heard it from one of the neighbours, just in case I don't want to say it was Emily.  
"Mmh.....He ... He's, Prone to screaming. I think."  
"....."  
I do remember seeing at the hospital; John fighting with the staff who were bringing him somewhere. And he'd be flailing and screaming like a maniac. He didn't seem that strong though, despite it, because they were able to just pull him along like a two year old. Even Mr Peterson would be dragging him by himself.  
......So maybe it really was John that Emily was hearing.  
"Why? Like... I know it's alot asking, but do you think there's a Reason for it?"  
Or does he just...Scream?  
It must be weird for Mr Peterson to experience, since he's not really the vocal freaking out type.  
".............." He stares from the note to the table blankly, and doesn't move, I wonder if it's the wrong thing to be asking him, or...A part of me wonders;  
•Are we Sure He isn't doing anything to him?•  
....No, we've literally Seen John, freaking out for no apparent reason. Even when Mr Peterson Wasn't with him. So maybe he's just weird.  
"........" He shrugs a shoulder slightly, not looking at me and murmurs.  
I don't think he has any idea. Either that or diving into a maniacs screaming head was too much for him to go there.  
'He's got problems, I guess.'  
I write, trying to change the subject as I think Mr Peterson is getting close to the spaced out edge where I'm not going to reach him after he does.  
"....mm..."  
\------------------------  
I know it's weird. But I kind of feel bad for Mr Peterson, having to live with John. While he has his own issues, he's not like--- Off the walls hyper and fidgety. Most of the time he's pretty down to earth (surprisingly.)  
John seems to be hyperactive All the Time. Even when he's depressed. And I feel like the Staff put the two of them together for that reason. With How difficult it is for other people to live with John and how Mr Peterson can't hear him going on and on about random questions and cryptic religious ramblings.  
So (theoretically) he'd be able to put up with him more.  
But I don't think it's going well to be honest. It's not just my weird dreams that tell me that either. He looks tired when I meet him.  
Yet I'm still unnerved by the way he seems to be studying me. With half-closed eyes, he's suspicious of me. Even though I don't think I've done anything to make him suspicious.  
I'm about to ask if there's anything, when he puts up a finger. Expression unchanging, he wants to tell me something, but it takes a minute more for him to get it straight. He signs one-handed as he just says.  
"You're his Nephew...'pparently."  
"Whuh?"  
He seemed sure of it, but I have no idea what he means.  
Mr Peterson turns his view drearily,  
"Or he might jus be...."  
He twists his hand beside his head. 'crazy'.  
I don't know what to think of that, so we just sit in silence a few minutes, before Mr Peterson groans faintly, staring at me again with attempted focus.  
He looks so different, drained of energy like he hasn't slept in weeks.  
"Y'do..." 'Look similar.'  
I gather from his signs. And now that he mentions it I do remember thinking to myself how familiar John seemed when I'd first seen him.  
"...." I search my memory for any John in the family, if I ever met him it doesn't stand out to me.  
"Tells me..." Mr Peterson adds straight, "You'll tell they secrets."  
??? Honestly that's not ringing any bells for me. WHAT 'Secrets'? I just motion that 'I Don't know.'  
......After thinking about it though. I might remember Dad mentioning something about his younger brother, named... John.  
I pause dead in my thought.  
What if he is my uncle. My uncle that was crazy so nobody mentioned him around me.  
................I must've blanked out because I jerk back to attention only when Mr Peterson snaps a hand at me.  
He chuckles a bit, "Runs in the family. Henh..."  
Now I definately shake awake,  
"Whuh?" He's calling me Crazy? I mean....OutLoud?  
My reaction only seems to amuse him some more.  
I get the impression Mr Peterson must feel sane compared to some of what he's seen, including from John.  
"Hhh...." I rub my hand on the back of my neck, tense and awkward from the conversation.


	10. Closing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not again. Not again...  
.  
.  
(Minor language)

I definitely wouldn't be mentioning that to Emily. When I go to see her at the shop she likes, I can tell she's been having a tough time too. At the hospital when I'd met her, she'd been kind of emotionless. With phases of skepticism or vague anger but not really anger thrown in. She was mellow. Now she kind of shaky, and her dark blue sunken eyes look fearful. Not dead. I feel bad for her.  
"I hate it Nick..." She admits.  
"...." Should she go back to the hospital? I don't know... Maybe she needs the help still.  
\------------------  
It was past 12:30 at night when I phoned the police. I'd been up If 15 minutes, and when I tried to explain to them, they told me they couldn't take the direct and that I'd have to take it up with the mental health agency; because they were the ones who run the homes and are in charge of the residents. Clearly they think she's just crazy. I slam the phone down in disbelief.  
"Damn it." Emily...  
She phoned me. Woke me up. I hadn't recognised it was her at first. She'd sounded so scared. Nothing like she usually did, and instead of doing what the police told me I grab my car keys and head out for Ecanch street. I'll check it out myself. It's dead late at night, and I don't even know what I'm dealing with. What if she IS in danger? That's why I'm going there-- even though I barely know the first thing about how to fight.  
I pull up on Ecanch with my lights turned off, down the street from her place, just in case. Then get out into the open night. It's dead quiet.  
"...." crossing the street warily I look around, listening for Any noises but there's nothing but my own footsteps.  
("Emily...?") I see the curtains all drawn shut. She's probably in hiding. I didn't say I was coming.  
I look over at the blue house warily, there's no noises. There are lights on in the upper floors. I'm scared, but I'm also feeling surprisingly brave. Still seeing no sign of anybody out here I cross over to her yellow house. Standing right outside the window wall to her living room. I tap it, whispering;  
"Emily?" I hope she can hear me but there's nothing.  
"..Emily?"  
I try again a little louder, still nothing, feeling my anxiety rising glancing back at the street I try the front door. In a way I'm glad it's locked. But how do I tell her it's me? That the coast is clear? I don't see anything? I want her to speak to me face to face, because she'd been worried there was someone out here. That's what she'd said when she called me, terrified. "He's here. He's fucking outside. I hear him. I hear him."  
"WHO'S outside? What's happening?"  
I wondered why she phoned me instead of the police.  
"Oh frikk--" She'd hung up on me, after hearing something I didn't. Whatever it was she sounded scared half to death. They couldn't've broken in. I would've heard that, and there's no signs of it now that I'm here.  
"Damn it." What am I doing?  
"Emily--!" I say louder, hoping she'll hear me in there.  
"There's Noone here. It's Nick, I-- Don't see anyone."  
She doesn't make any signs that she's heard me, and I start to get scared again. Why isn't she answering? The door's still locked and the windows covered and in tact. She should be okay, right? Why isn't she answering? Doesn't she know it's me? Or does she think it's someone Pretending to be me? I don't know why I think it's a good idea-- Probably because I have no ideas, and I'm starting to panic.-- But I turn my head back across the road to the blue house, and the lights on upstairs.  
I have the urge to go check in there.  
I don't think she'd be there, but. I head across the unpaved street. Front doors are unlocked.  
I don't suspect it's Mr Peterson, but I look for him anyway. Desperately trying to find a lead on what is going on. "Where are you...?"  
I head to where the lights had been, realising while I am scared, it's John I'm more afraid of seeing first.  
.........I wonder if he....  
I swallow uncertainly and turn the corner into the room with light.  
Mr Peterson runs at me with his hands extended like claws and I stumble backwards so quickly frightened I fall to the floor--- It doesn't immediately occur to me this Wasn't the good reaction if he's running at me.  
Literal seconds before his hands are about to go around my neck he stops. Maybe he didn't recognise who I was until just now. Either way his hands were a fingertips touch towards strangling me just a moment ago.  
"Nicholas? What are you doing here?"  
"---" I shake, still sitting up on the floor not looking to his face. My body feeling numb and detached. I really don't want trouble with him again. Somehow managing to straighten my words out.  
"I---I got a call from Emily. Across the street." I get up warily as he takes a step back from me, arms still at ready for grasping.  
"I didn't mean to come here. Th---The door was open."  
I point in the general direction that I think is across the street. "She said she heard noises. She won't answer me."  
It's only now I'm realising I don't even know if He understands me. He's just staring at me completely still while I'm shaking and my head, spinning, trying to explain what was happening.  
I practically faint when he steps towards me so close. "She's not answering? The girl across the street?"  
He did understand me.  
I don't know why I'm happy he did. What if He's the one who's been stalking her? I don't think it's him...  
Mr Peterson runs past me and I stumble to follow up with him, "oh god.." I think to myself; What am I getting into? I have a Bad, feeling about this.  
He goes straight to her door and throws himself at it. Only then it occurs to me I've really just went to Mr Peterson and now he's breaking into her house because of my explanation. I didn't think of doing that. The loud noise should've woken her if she'd been asleep, or terrified her further.  
Mr Peterson breaks in the door and stumbles inside, at this point I'm numbly waiting for her to scream. I'm still standing on the yard like I've been frozen. He's already gone in and I don't hear anything. It's quiet. After a few seconds I start to make my way forwards uncertainly, it's TOO quiet. Something is definitely wrong.  
We shouldn't even be Doing this, but the police wouldn't come when I called.  
I step around the dark interior of the house, but nothing would have prepared me for this.  
She's lying on the floor with a knife deep in her stomach. It looks self-inflicted.  
I stagger backwards, vision blurring, and I see Mr Peterson standing there. Just staring. Probably the same way as I am, but he's just blank.  
I feel like my heart's going to explode and my legs will give out. My vision is blacking out, I can't think straight, let alone see him move, I feel Mr Peterson grabbing me and then I'm being pulled, for the life of me I can't fight it, I can't feel anything but the vague grasp around me moving.  
And I feel sick.

\--------

I think it was after I threw up on the yard that I passed out.  
It had to have been a dream.  
That wasn't real.  
There was no phone call waking me, and dragging me out in the night because the police wouldn't take my explanation.  
No voice of Emily frightened and terrified on the line telling me about some stalker outside.  
No running into the house and being near strangled by Mr Peterson.  
No watching him break into Emily's house.  
And no knife bleeding her stomach onto the floor.  
This didn't happen.  
This Didn't Happen.  
It couldn't've.  
I'm convinced it wasn't real until I wake up still on the yard. People in uniforms moving around me.  
"What the fuck?"  
I'm instantly alert and afraid again.  
"What the Fuck??"  
"Are you alright?"  
I barely hear the voice.  
"Sir?" The hand touches my shoulder, "Are you alright?"  
It takes a second to register the paramedic over me, and then the covered body they're transferring to the vehicle. I blank again with no feeling.  
It can't be.  
\------------  
I've been in a haze for I don't know how long, they tell me she's dead. Emily is dead. She died. They say, from self-inflicted injuries. Suicide.  
I don't know how long it takes before that really sinks with me. That that night was real.  
I ask them who phoned the paramedics. Because--- I consider for a second maybe it was Mr Peterson, but, I can't see him doing that.  
They say they got a call from one of the other neighbours who'd seen me laying there.  
It wasn't until they arrived on scene they realised something more was going on. The smashed in door. They thought it'd been me. Then they investigated and found her. By then it was already too late. They'd been going to investigate me for murder. But they found it more likely suicide. Thank god-- At least, that they didn't suspect me. I don't know what I would've done if they did. I probably didn't make for much of a suspect being passed out on her front yard either, but I still had to answer their questions.  
"I got a call-- Must've been...Past 12:30 at night."  
I take a deep breath unsteadily, holding my hands on the table in front of the officers.  
"She said, there was something wrong. She said she heard voices. She kept saying-- 'He's here, Oh god he's here.' But I didn't hear anything over the line, and then she hung up on me. So I went over there and...I didn't see anyone."  
"Why didn't you phone the police?"  
I see red, literally. Banging my hands on the table I shoot up immediately, "I DID PHONE THEM! I DID Phone the Police! They Said They Couldn't DO Anything!"  
I bang my hands harder on the desk  
"I DID Phone them! They said they Couldn't Help! It Wasn't their Duty! To 'Phone the mental agency!' So I WENT There, MYSELF."  
"Sir-- Please just calm yourself down."  
"She MIGHT'VE been ALIVE if you Would've Taken me Seriously!"  
I feel tears well up in my eyes and defeat sinking in. I couldn't do anything. Again. I let someone else die that needed help. That I really cared about. Maybe if I'd've been strong enough to at least phone the ambulance myself they could've gotten to her in time. But I'd been scared. I was so--  
"Hhhhh...."  
Collapsing on the desk I bury my head in my arms and want to yell in frustration.  
That's how it went.  
They wouldn't let me leave the station because they 'needed to keep an eye on me.' Apparently, I was 'unstable'. They brought in Mr Peterson for questioning because I'd mentioned him. I feel bad for bringing him into this. I hadn't been thinking.  
I don't think he murdered Emily, or was the one who'd been stalking her. So I hope they don't think so. He literally just got out from restriction. Barely a few months ago, he didn't need to be brought back into suspicion for murder.  
He's going to be mad at me. For dragging him into this instead of dealing with it on my own.  
The hand he smacks on my shoulder as I sit staring at the floor is hard.  
"I know what ya feel."  
He grunts, sitting down next to me heavily, and exhales  
"Alright."  
"....."  
I guess he does. Emily was just, my friend. I mean...  
He lost his wife and his kids. He definitely knows how I'm feeling.  
.........Come to think of it. I'm surprised he'd been able to see, that. Was it because he's seen worse? I mean I... The sight of her...On the ground, the knife, the blood....  
Like he's reading my thoughts Mr Peterson shakes my back,  
"Don't think on it."  
Worst thing I guess.  
"....Thanks."  
..........I turn my head to look at him, hating how a part of my brain still feels fear ingrained from his image. And how a part of me wants to be mad at someone.  
"Why didn't you phone the ambulance?"  
I regret it after I ask. Knowing I just want so much to have done something that could've saved her. In a way I'm glad he doesn't see my lips move and catch what I say.  
I didn't even do it. I can't blame him. He dragged me out of the house when I freaked out. That's all I did. I'm not mad he left me there, on the yard. Because that's what alerted one of the neighbours to actually bring in somebody. It was just too late.  
"Hhhhh...."  
Why did this happen though?  
Was Emily really just crazy? Or WAS there something that had been going on?  
.....Why would you...Purposely....  
I put my hands in my face still not understanding.  
Mr Peterson tells me not to think about it but I can't help it. My brain wants to know WHY even when there's no way of Knowing why.

\-----------------------------

You'd think knowing Emily killed herself would depress me. That I'd lose any hope I'd gained, and go back to where I was with no motivation.  
A slim chance to live, off meds and clinging to the most abstract things.  
But that's not the way I go.  
I dive deep into my studies and work on building my future.  
I'm NOT gonna be the guy they find drugged out and dead on his floor from overdose or a Knife in his Chest. Screw that.  
I'm going to do something, someday, and I'll help somebody. I'll learn how to stand when things get rough instead of getting scared.  
I'll never get anywhere like this.  
I couldn't even phone a damn ambulance that might've saved my friend.  
It could've killed me, that thought. But instead I use the frustration towards my education.  
My visits with Mr Peterson are limited to maybe once or twice a week. I still want to keep in touch with him but I'm working hard studying. I doubt he minds.

\-----------------------  
4 months later,

I'm at the local farm.  
It's daylight as I get out of my car and walk in through the brightly painted wooden gateway, as I do I realise how little I'd been here. Considering how much of Raven Brooks history was connected with apples. Maybe as a kid I had no interest in going to the orchards BECAUSE of that. I don't know what brings me here now then.  
The skies turn dim as I walk further in. It seems....Oddly quiet. Almost eerie. Why would it be? It's an apple orchard. Trees surround me in thick lines as I walk slowly down the path. Harsh whispering in my ear makes me stop and look back, but Noone's there. I couldn't make out what they were saying. Like usual.  
"Hhhh..."  
Rolling my head I go to continue, then I see the worker in red shirt and black overalls ahead of me. His back turned. An ominous feeling weighs in me, yet I walk towards him.  
"Hey--" I wave a hand.  
the man turns around, his face a mask of bloody red, "HEY."  
"Hh--!"  
I wake with a start, jumping from the couch-- I'm in my home. I must've fallen asleep studying because papers are scattered everywhere on the floor.  
"Oh.." With a groan I turn over and get up to clean the papers back into order.  
\---My dream was telling me that I should go to the orchards.---  
I don't know why my brain is interested in it all of a sudden, but that's the only reason I would've dreamt about it. Maybe the reason will show itself if I go there.  
I have this sort of psychic ability, for this kind of stuff. Hopefully it's not like my dream because I don't know What was up with that man's face and I'm good Not knowing.  
\--------------  
I've been focusing on studying alot lately. So a break isn't gonna hurt. And I'll wonder anyways if I DON'T go.  
After sorting my stuff out and making breakfast I head out, stopping with my hand on the car door.  
..........I forgot to get my notebook. It's become a habit for me to bring it with me, just in case I need it. So I head back in to grab it before leaving for sure.  
The orchard's near the outskirts of town, as far as I know they still do shipments, but it's mostly local.  
The wooden gate a pinkish red, I don't know if you need any permission to be here to be honest. The sign welcomes you in and open. I think you're allowed to pick your own apples here if you'd like.  
But I'm not sure what I'm doing here.  
Walking around I hope the reason will show itself.  
The orchard's a bit different from my dream, at least, doesn't seem As creepy.  
........Maybe I just had a dream about it for no reason? Why does EVERYTHING have to be a psychic prediction or connect with the real world?  
I start to think, when I see nothing suspicious, then I glimpse something ahead of me and slow. Ducking a bit behind the nearest of many trees, to stare at Mr Peterson.  
I think I might've found what my brain led me here for.  
He's with two children.  
I still like ice watching them, as Mr Peterson bends down and scoops the boy up with ease. I stay still, seeing he's helping him reach the apple in the tree.  
I marvel at how they're not scared of him. Even before I knew him, the first time I saw Mr Peterson, it was like I was struck with lightning and frozen.  
They don't seem scared of him at all.  
I wonder if that means he's changed or they're just wnot good at sensing people's auras.  
That might sound like a crazy thing to say but my brain led me here for a reason. I know it did.   
Staying right where I am hoping they won't notice, I wonder where their parents are. And why is he...?  
The girl, maybe the boys sister, seems disappointed she doesn't get a turn to pick an apple, for a second I wonder why, Mr Peterson seems to be hesitate before picking up the girl.  
I don't know what I'm watching for--Well. I do. But I'm not sure what I'll actually DO if something happens. Part of my body feels like it would run away the opposite direction. But the other tells me that I'd have to do something to protect those kids.  
This is stressing me out way more than it should.  
The girl is happy to have picked an apple and Mr Peterson sets her back down carefully, he seems nervous. His hands linger in the air a moment as if he'd rather not let go and then turns them into movement. I think he tells them something, then directs them elsewhere. My throat sinks and my nails grip the tree-bark. I'm scared for them, but I'm also scared he'll notice me.  
°Come On Nicky Get Ahold of Yourself. You have to make sure nothing happens to them° Against my will I urge myself to follow from a distance. Praying my dream led me here for a good reason and not to wrench my heart and test my capabilities.  
\----When I see Mr Peterson directs the kids to a woman I assume is their mother I'm relieved, and audibly exhale a breath I didn't realise I was holding in. He gives them a small wave before heading off.  
•Now what, Genius?•  
I ask myself.  
Do you approach him or not? Do I just leave now? Is this all I came here to see? I could live with that, but surely that's not all I'm here for.  
I'm in between following him to keep watching, or approaching and not mentioning it, maybe approaching and saying it was 'nice'. Maybe I should just leave now that I've 'seen enough'...? My dream seemed to be more 'horror-implied', does that mean there's still reason for me to stay?  
Making sure I keep my distance from him I start heading in the direction Mr Peterson went. It'd be bad if he sees me. He'll probably think I'm following him.  
(Well, technically you ARE, Nicky.....--But my dream led me here, nothing else.)  
I can't seem to find him again now that I've let him walk off.  
\--Maybe that's a good thing. I'm sure Nothings gonna happen, he didn't hurt THOSE kids.--  
........Then why'd he come here?  
"Ehh...." I try hard to pass it off but PTSD is a vice grip combined with Paranoia. Even if it was 100% that he'd changed. After about 15 minutes of walking around I decide it's probably time for me to leave, that that really was all I came to see. Because if there's something else I haven't seen it or him.  
•Check Around the Stassroashty....•  
"...?" I hear the whispering voice again. Not clearly, but I know it's telling me not to go.  
"Uhn...." I wince and groan, reluctantly turning back, Where does it Want me to Go?  
I just let myself walk hoping it'll lead me to wherever I need to be. I end up inside the market tent. On the southwest side, letting my feet keep doing the wandering as I look through faces. They sell more than apples here. Mostly other things in the market place from local crafters.  
My skin goes colder, I'm heading in the right direction.  
I can feel Mr Petersons presence without seeing him, which is kinda scary, wondering if I'm really the only one who senses it. Auras like his.  
The feeling is getting stronger, so I'm definately getting close, my steps slow to nearly a stop, but I still don't see him anywhere despite the feeling he was nearby.  
"Mmnh..."  
I flinch hearing a strained moan and freeze in place. Any closer and alarm bells would be going off in my head. I look around and realise Mr Peterson must be on the other side of this wall I'm standing near.  
It gets more awkward each second I stand here.  
What if it's not even a psychotic phase. What if he just has bad indigestion.  
Not gonna lie, it makes me feel a little better thinking about that.  
Slowly taking a step backwards and moving towards the nearest shop so I can at least make myself look busy if an explanation is needed.  
I'm content with my Sane reasoning/image, until my mind conjures the flash thought that he's pulled a kid into the bathroom with him and may have strangled them.  
Why do I have to think of these things.  
WHY.  
I tell myself that's crazy, and that someone would have heard them scream. Wouldn't they?  
"Ugh..Man.." WHY Did I have to Think of that?  
Just when I start to seriously debate my own sanity/morality and the possibilities/repercussions of barging into a bathroom and how I'd go about it, I hear an exhale and think he's left the doorway. I don't dare turn around and make it obvious I've been here on purpose. I start holding my breath when his presence still stares at me.  
I pick up one of the items for sale to look like I was here thinking about buying something and not here stalking him.  
It must work, because his aura starts going away. And decides to ignore me.  
"...."  
When I no longer feel it at all I turn my head around and debate if I want to continue following or---  
No. No. My mind wants me to check the toilet. As if I'm making sure there are no crumpled kids in there.  
I don't know why I have to be this weird. This is weird, right?-- No, it's reasonable. ---My mind tells me as it's reassured there are no victims in here.  
It's reasonable. I wonder about that.  
This is like begging to be killed if he starts catching onto me and thinking that I've been stalking him.  
\--But I'm not.--  
I say to myself. I barely visit him now that I've been busy, I'm just....Worried. Seeing him in public after being in restriction for 20 years. That's it.  
Nothing weird about it.  
I didn't even KNOW he'd be here.  
I just came.  
.................  
That's TOTALLY it.  
"Are you looking for anything specific, sir?"  
I flinch when I realise the voice is speaking to me,  
"Whuh?"  
Focusing back into my surroundings I see a lady staring at me probably a bit concerned, like I'm lost or something.  
"Um--No. It's okay. I'm just. Looking."  
"Well alright. If you need any help just ask one of the vendors, okay?"  
"...Thanks."  
I feel awkward again, but continue on. Where? No idea. Part of me would still rather leave.  
That sounds like a Good Idea.  
Listen to your good idea, Nicky.  
Don't wander any further.  
...People are starting to look like cardboard figures. And I'm getting dizzy. I thought it was day? Why does it look like it's night out?  
My heart is pumping in my ears, when I close my eyes my head swirls heavily.  
When I open them again everything is dark and lit by red illumination spots.  
I'm suddenly alone and the place feels completely empty.  
".....?"  
The sound of whispering wind lingers in the air but I don't feel its breeze. Everything is still.  
I walk out towards the orchards and see the sky is black, yet I can see the trees clearly. The light doesn't match the sky. Something feels very unreal about it..  
A ragged childs scream cuts through the dead air and I freeze before lumbering forward into a run.  
Searching the deserted and warped rows of trees and paths that I can no longer see the end of,  
Again. I hear the screaming. A man telling them to 'Quiet!' just as I reach the awful image a hand grasps my face and pulls me backwards over my eyes, grabbing me from behind, I gasp and struggle to jerk away and dislodge their grip, my chest tightening like it's pressed. I can't break free, my strength is fading away, I can barely make a sound, there's nothing in front of me.  
Pulled backwards--but I feel suspended in the air.  
Nothing makes sense.  
It's like I'm being dragged through Nothingness.  
Like I'm dead. And I don't know why or How it happened. I can't remember what was 10 minutes ago. 5. I can't move my body anymore. But I'm still being dragged. From a current that moves me backwards through liquid-air, I don't know how to comprehend it. Vague noises and dull bangs reach me through what seems like a layer of distant ocean.  
I can't keep track of time and feel myself slipping in and out of conciousness in this black void. For awhile. It stops. And in this state of actual nothing I start to feel ill. Like I'd preferred the moving current to this.


	11. Foggy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened? Where am I? Why is this happening?  
Is it another sick illusion?

Gagging, I wake up registering cloth under me my hands touch. The room was inside and I'm on a bed. I'd sat up so quickly my vision still swims and I breathe backwards like I don't know how, trying not to throw up.  
Thank God it settles but I still have no idea where I am. Or know what happened. Thinking about it is nauseating so I just try to grip my reality.  
It's a small room. That's for certain. Which doesn't help with keeping my stomach stable. I don't like being enclosed. This makes no sense. I go to get up realising I'm strapped in.  
I can't get out of the bed.  
Adrenaline I don't have floods me and I shake convulsively, jerking my arms and trying to pull at the limb restraints. My throat swells and I let out a dreadful noise.  
In my panic I hadn't seen the figure sitting over there so quietly, I would've screamed if his head wasn't in his hands not even looking at me.  
The enclosure. The curtains. The bed. The restraints. The thing next to me. I slowly start to realise I might be in a hospital and not a kidnappers basement. Though I'm not sure because the kidnapper's over there.  
\--Maybe he just made it LOOK like it wasn't a basement to fool me. Maybe the hospital image is to trick me into thinking that I'm sick and need treating. Oh My God--Get me Out of This.  
"Get me Out of This."  
Maybe I can get out of the restraints and run for it. I'm fast and not afraid to push him down if need be.  
My struggling may or may not have alerted him, but I see Mr Petersons lifted his head, staring at me with a wide set stare.  
I struggle more.  
I'm ready to fight. I'm not good at fighting, but I'm ready.  
He just keeps giving me the same blank stare.  
I feel stronger because somehow I know he's intimidated by me. I'm not the one Scared anymore.  
"You Let me out. Come on."  
"........"  
He doesn't move. I'm scaring him. Good.  
"Grr...."  
"......" Mr Peterson glances to his left unsurely at something, flexing his hands.  
I'm determined to keep my confidence and hard stance despite being restrained to the bed as he gets up and walks towards me.  
My god is he lucky I'm in these restraints. If he hadn't of put me in them I'd tackle his face into the floor. I send out my own intense aura waves.  
'Don't Mess with Me.'  
He seems to be ignoring it, so I try harder. He quietly writes something down beside me on the table.  
Why? I think. I'm not Deaf.  
I'm ready to ignore him too when Mr Peterson brings up the paper but he shoves it into my face to make me pay attention. Angrily I read it reluctantly.  
'Not well Nicky.  
Ambulance they called.  
Hospital they brought you.  
Needed help Offered.'  
I swear I'm reading wrong but the words stay the same no matter how I look at it.  
'Not well Nicky.  
Ambulance they called.  
Hospital they brought you.  
Needed help Offered.'

Who did--- WHAT?  
°You fainted, Nick.°  
A voice says in my head but I refuse to believe it. This is. Fake. He's trying to Trick me. Make me Believe there's something wrong with me and I'm in a hospital, to lower my resistance.  
I fight the part of myself that wants to believe it.  
And end up saying nothing initially. Staring at the restraint around my left wrist and the bed.  
".....I don't Believe you."  
I mutter aloud, mostly trying to convince myself of it. Then I see the tubes hooked into my arm, panic slams up again at the thought of what kind of shit might be in those.  
"I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!"  
My heart's racing, my focus slips.  
Mr Peterson leaves and that makes me certain it's truely some Weird plot to Make me sick or Think I'm sick, so he can keep me here. No no no no No NO.  
I pull my right wrist frantically trying to break the restraint so I can start pulling out whatever those tubes are.  
When he comes back and another man is with him I really freak out because the delusion is complicated. He's dressed like he's a doctor. The man is.  
"I'm ONTO You."  
I interupt before he can even speak.  
"Nicholas. This is the hospital."  
"You're just SAYING it is."  
"No, Really." The man pulls out his I.D. and it reads;  
'Nyu Wayron Hospital  
\---Medical Staff---  
Dr. Bruce Millin  
I.d.#8147130'  
"Urrh...." My head hurts.

\------------------------------------------

Screaming. I just vaguely remember Screaming. I don't know for sure if I was screaming, or if I just Heard someone screaming. I've been out so deeply I can't barely remember. What happened, and what didn't. I don't know What's real at this point. I don't know what I did or what's happening to me. But when I wake up again--- However long it's been-- I still don't know where I am, it's the same room I remember hazily. Same bed.  
I don't feel.... Agitated. Vaguely I recall being violent. I'm not sure if the memory is real, because it's not like me to be so aggressive.  
And now I feel strangely calm. Considering where I am. I see Mr Peterson slumped forwards on the chair by the wall away from me. I stare at him for a few moments and tentatively consider getting up only to remember I'm still restrained. That part is real. The sight scares me. I think he might be dead.  
I can't look at it. Closing my eyes again and turning my head.  
When will this Horror-Story end?  
Sometimes it feels like my Life is just one big horror film, and I can't get out of it.  
"Hh--"  
Nevermind. I hear a harsh gasp and peek open my left eye, hearing a groan. I feel bad for him, and wonder why he's still here.  
\--Didn't they tell him she died yet?--  
Mr Peterson looks like a zombie pulling himself to his feet and pushing his back in to straighten up with another groan. It doesn't work very well, and he sighs glancing my way, holding the stare a few moments I wonder if he knows I'm awake.  
He sighs again, I hear him breathe in from here, and then he paces a bit.  
It's only vaguely I realise it's not his wife he's here for. He's here for me.  
....Why?  
What's wrong with me? Am I dying? I feel like I'm dying. Since I can't move. Why can't I move?  
Before I can even voice any of my questions or get any answers I get pulled back to sleep.  
The back of my mind imaging the thought of Mr Petersons tired and worried face, pacing nervously in the hospital room, while I lay here like I'm dead.  
\-------------------------  
..........He must've got tired.of waiting. Or I AM dead now. Because the next time I wake up I don't see Mr Peterson anywhere. I'm alone. I don't feel dead now though. So is this a cruel trick reality plays? I move my head and wiggle my legs. I can feel myself again. I must not be dead. But. Why am I here? Where did he go?  
.......I don't blame him if he left. I mean... It must bring alot of bad memories to come here. And waiting. And who am I to him anyway? We just---- Barely know each other-- Isn't it?  
I hear a monitor or something going off, but don't know where it's coming from  
I guess I really am in a hospital.  
I still don't know what happened though.  
".........."  
The restraint on my right wrist......Sitting up,  
"....I could probably....Maybe..."  
I bend forward and realise I can reach my wrists with my face.  
Trust that I've searched up 'How to get out of restraints'. After being kidnapped you tend to want to know certain things for future use.  
I bet I can at least TRY to get my right wrist free with my mouth.  
I don't need any 'Restraints'. Whatever reason they thought it was necessary I'll apologise. I don't remember much of what I did but this can't be measured.  
Grasping the clasp in my teeth I try to get them into the curve. Fiddling for awhile the tasted cloth and hospital starts to get bad before the clasp loosened, I turn my wrist determined to get it off. Finally I was able to slip my hand through it and quickly turned to getting the left sides off.  
I curse my luck as a nurse happens to come in and sees what I've done.  
"Mr Roth--"  
"Nicholas." I reply, sounding weird even to myself for using my full name.  
"Nicholas.." she repeats carefully, "What do you think you're doing?"  
"I don't need restraints lady. I'm fine."  
"Not according to this you're not."  
"What's 'This'?"  
Honestly I have no clue what she's on about. And she doesn't tell me much but assures it's nothing 'serious'. I hear a few words tossed around that I don't understand the meaning of and get told they have me on some type of sedative and xxx hooked up for this and xxx hooked up for that. I freak out a bit having not realised the heart monitor things were there until she mentioned it.  
The explanation just leaves me more confused and weary. Maybe that's why they kept it short version.  
"Just...Just how long am I in for?"  
That's all I wanted to know at this point.  
"You shouldn't be in for too many days, as long as you follow doctor's orders."  
I give her a look that probably says I don't like following orders. But I say I understand and thank her for the information so she goes away. And I can get back to taking off my restraints.  
I feel like they think I'm Crazy or something.  
I don't know Why.  
It can't be that bad, whatever's supposedly worng with me.  
"--" Finally, got the last restraint off, and shift my legs off the bed.  
Time to get--- Whoa.  
My head spins and for a second I feel like I'm going to fall over again right after getting up.  
"Ugh.."  
Probably whatever crap they've been injecting while I was asleep. Groaning, I shrug it off and go to walk out, a tug in my arm vaguely pauses me and I look around thinking it was someone there until I realise the lines still connected.  
"Huh...." Forgot to remove it.  
While I'm uneasely picking at the tubes something definately comes up and grabs my right arm.  
I get an instant headache because I feel a rush of adrenaline and exhaustion crash at the same time as I turn around to see Mr Peterson staring me down.  
I'm so tired all I can think is;  
"I thought you left?"  
Why is he even here?  
Predictably (?) He doesn't answer and just moves me to sit back down. I moan and try to resist but he's stronger than me normally, I have no chance.  
I feel like I'm being tortured somehow by being made to stay here. But at the same time I'm too tired to realise I'm this tired.  
I expect he'll just go away, because I sat the way he wanted me too but he just stays there and doesn't let go of me.  
Staring at the dark corner of the ceiling I insist.  
"I'M FINE."  
Seriously. I feel heavy though. Like there's a bunch of weight pressed against my body.  
And I hear Dad's voice answering me.  
"Well from my view you don't look it."  
"Dad?"  
I feel a hand on my head that ruffles my hair and I feel tears burn at my eyes. I grab the arm as tightly as I can feeling like the void demon was coming to pull me back under, which scares me more than anything."You should get some rest, Narf."  
"I don't wanna go to sleep.."  
"If you don't you'll look like a grandma before you know it."  
I still don't want to go to sleep. But I can't resist it pulling me. But I do resist it's threats to pull my hands away. And refuse to let go of his arm.  
\-----------------  
It feels like ages since I said that.  
We weren't on good terms and then.....  
I'm glad that my brain finally loses its energy to think. I don't want to dream of them, or go back to it.  
For once, darkness is comforting...  
\---------------------  
I forget what I'm doing here again.  
I don't remember what happened. All I have is some vague memory of holding my arms around theirs. And I don't even know if that was real anymore either, because I thought I'd heard my Dad's voice. But it couldn't've been my dad. I'm tired and scared.  
Even when I'm waking up from it again, I'm still tired.  
Why am I still tired if I've slept? How Much have I slept? Why is my memory so foggy?  
I wake up on my side and expect nothing, instead I flinch backwards confused and startled to find myself clutching a balled up sweater like it's a pillow or a toy.  
It has a strong smell to it that's not quite unpleasant but I'm surprised it hadn't woke me up sooner since I'd had my face pressed in it.  
Then I see movement and realise it's Mr Petersons sweater, when I see he's not wearing it while pacing and turning his head in odd angles.  
"......"  
I sink realising it's Him I'd been holding onto so determinedly while losing conciousness.  
Oh Geez. Oh Crap. Oh my God....  
I start to feel insanely awkward and pray I've not given him any wrong ideas. I don't dare move and alert him that I'm awake, So I can try and get a guess of what he's doing or thinking about so intensely.  
If I move, he'll probably just stare at me again. I don't know what else but that's for certain.  
I already feel awkward enough.  
...What if I called him dad.  
I don't know what I was saying-- If anything, aloud.  
Or if he'd even have understood me if I was.  
He looks troubled by whatever the thoughts were.  
And then it hits me I don't know how long this conciousness will last. I've been going in and out of sleep for How long? I have to ask--  
"...." But I'm scared to, honestly.  
"...." I turn my head and see there's still paper on the table near the bed, I don't feel like speaking anyway.  
And reach for it awkwardly, I thought I managed to get it without his noticing but then he straightens around like I'm doing something I'm not supposed to be.  
'What time is it?'  
I struggle to write cleanly but reluctantly show him the note.  
Mr Peterson just stares at me for a few minutes and I'm certain I'm not getting an answer. When he suddenly seems to have a click of what 'Time' was and turns his head around.  
It occurs to me I really am stuck in this hospital with nobody but this weirdo. I wonder if I might be better with nobody. Yet I still have his sweater.  
Mr Peterson raises his hands and puts up 8 fingers closes them, raises 4, closes his hand again and then puts up 5.  
I stare at him for a minute my brain slowly processing that it might be 8:45. Or was it... I go with that and just wonder if he knew,  
'Why am I here?'  
He thinks again and seems troubled by it. I start to think it's pointless to ask, or maybe He put me here, because he can't seem to explain it, unless all those motions are supposed to mean something. I have no idea. This makes me weary.  
"Ughh..."  
I groan, debating on whether to try getting up again,  
Mr Peterson snaps his head left and then I see a nurse come in towards me.  
"How are you feeling?"  
"Uhh...." Confused? Maybe?  
She tells me they're going to do a retest and I understand about half of the words. I'm fine with that until she touches and tries to reach under my shirt. I snap my arm out instinctively panicked and go back to wanting to run.  
I just want to run.  
I don't have the strength to resist when Mr Peterson hold down my legs. I feel like a child wanting to scream as the nurse pokes at me.  
"You're going to be here forever if we can't even get a good heartrate."  
I think she jokes.  
\--My Heart's Fine.-- I think to myself. It's beating like crazy. It's Definately Working.  
After she stops touching me and was finished hooking up whatever I try to calm down.  
I'm not sure if the stare Mr Peterson is giving me helps encourage it or makes me nervous.  
I hear him growl but the nurse doesn't seem to notice it. She just checks a monitor right of me and then concludes her work is done. She says something else but my brain doesn't register it.  
Trapped in this staring contest with Mr Petersons gaze.  
He doesn't move and I worry if he could he'd suffocate me with his eyes.  
"I'm sorry..?" I try.  
If he doesn't want to be here why is he here?  
I feel his fingers curl on my bare lower leg and he leans closer to the bed.  
Which is straying to scare me, because he looks like some possessed monster in a horror film.  
I close my eyes wondering why whatever brought me here didn't just kill me.  
I feel his grip leave my leg and hope he goes. I keep my eyes shut but I feel my shoulder twitching that that's not the case.  
I don't want to look--- And I have a Bad feeling about it, but I open my eyes again, jerking back realising Mr Petersons face is inches from mine.  
If he's going to murder me, I wish he'd just do it already.  
"Mm....Hmmhmhmm...."  
He hums, not looking into my eyes so much as down from them. And brushes his hand across my forehead. Still humming, a weird, nervous smile on his face. He squeezes my cheek and then turns around, getting up and leaving the bedside. Still humming that strange tune.  
He doesn't even glance back to me, and moves out with a gait.  
I don't know what to make of the bizarre behaviour.  
It's like I'm in HECC.  
This is my Descent into HECC.  
\------------------------  
When the nurse comes back to check on the transcripts of the monitor, she reminds me to relax and take deep breaths, I almost want to laugh and ask if she'd be that relaxed if some guy had been doing the shit he'd been doing. But I don't.  
"You should be free to go by tomorrow."  
"...Thank you."  
I guess?  
I take a deep breath when the woman leaves, but I'm feeling calmer now. Or at least I was, until Mr Peterson comes back.  
I'm NOT his son. A part of me thinks he looks at me like I Am.  
I notice he's carrying something in his hand as he walks over. It's a paper with my information on it. First I question why he has it, then I see that it has the reasons why I'm here. It lists;  
'High risk-Fainting, Delirium, Minor Head Trauma from injury, dehydration, (...Something.), imbalance, need ECG heart monitoring, muscle weakness from virus. (Etc)'  
"Oh."  
Sounded like more things than I'd thought it'd been.  
"...Alright."  
I wish I could remember what I'd aten the other day, or last, So I could tell myself to never eat it again, because it sounded like one of my problems might be a good poisoning. That might be why my stomachs been feeling weird occasionally. I thought it was because somebody had stabbed me to be honest.  
"Um...Thank you?"  
I try when he continues to stand there.  
Mr Peterson mumbles and puts the sheet on the table, and for a moment I think he might not be so scary if he said more.  
.....Maybe.  
Surely he's not still here waiting for the proper time to 'murder me'. Reasonably... He must care about me. I don't know Why--Or in, what Way, but...  
So far I feel like I'm finally going to stay awake, since it's been awhile and I'm not insanely tired. So I grab the notepaper and try an unrelated but related question;  
'Won't John be concerned if you're gone?'  
I'm not sure it makes sense myself to be honest, but surely they'd notice he's been gone.  
"......."  
Mr Peterson stares at me for awhile like the message made him vaguely...Angry. I'm surprised and chilled when he eventually answers strainingly,  
"I Don't-- Care. About. John."  
He sounded pissed that I might think he does.  
"Uh...." I didn't mean anything by it. I hope he doesn't Think I meant anything by it.  
"...Sorry?"  
Maybe I should stick with Not saying anything to him.  
Mr Peterson looks momentarily puzzled, I think after I apologised, and growls, turning his whole body and raising his hands up to his face.  
I think I either misinterpreted him being angry or he's trying Not to be angry. I regret asking either way.  
"Mmh...Mh..."  
I think he attempts to tell me he's not mad (at me)before giving up and feeling hopeless.  
This time I feel bad when he leaves...  
\------  
It was nice to know more about why I was here. If they'd told me before I don't remember it.  
My mind suddenly drifts to Aaron. I'm not sure why.  
I just remember his, odd relationship with his dad, Mr Peterson. How to him he was 'weird'.  
I picture if I were Aaron. Or he was me in my position. I sometimes feel like, maybe, Mr Peterson looks at me like I'm his son. I'm sure he knows I'm Nicky and not Aaron. But for some reason it doesn't feel that way.  
So would he really be any different around Aaron?  
I think of the awkward staring, and uneasy moments. His failure to communicate whatever he meant to tell me, getting frustrated and embarrassed. Then leaving.  
His silence when I asked him something as simple as for the time. I took a minute for him to even respond, like he didn't even register what I was asking. Then it wasn't exactly a regular answer, he showed me sets of fingers.  
What would I think if I knew that was my dad?  
He's not. But I try to imagine briefly how I'd feel.  
Maybe Aaron understood more of the signs Mr Peterson used to communicate. I don't know actually. I come with that it would be...'Weird.'  
Nothing like my own dad at the least. It's strange to even think about.  
"Hhhh...."  
Sighing I grab for the information sheet Mr Peterson left for me on the table, to look it over again.  
Some of it doesn't really surprise me. Though I wish I knew what I'd gotten food poisoning From. I do get alot of things on cheap, so maybe it's possibly it could've been contaminated.  
And then......  
'Head trauma?' from 'Injury?' WHAT 'injury'? I don't remember That either.  
"Ugh." Groaning I don't want to think about it anymore, and put the sheet away.  
\----------------------------  
I need to pee really bad honestly, and I don't know how long I've been here but it's insane.  
It's almost like that time when I was a kid-- While a captive of Mr Peterson. He locked the freaking bathroom door and boarded it up.  
I don't even want to think about the details again.  
"Ughh..."  
The LAST thing I want is to be asking him Now (again) if I can use the bathroom. Bad memories honestly. I am so screwed.  
I decide to just get up and try to get the stuff to come with me. I'll make this work.  
Until my luck kicks in and Mr Peterson comes back to see me wrestling with the IV lines.  
I curse my luck knowing what'll happen and put my hands out.  
"Wait. Wait. I just want to use the bathroom."  
My nightmare all over again. As he just stares at me. I try some gestures I remember hoping he'll understand. My god. I think he does.  
For a second I'm hopeful he's decided to get a nurse who can unhook these things. My hope is hit with a rock as he picks up the garbage can and brings it to me.  
"I am Not peeing in a garbage can."  
That is not how that works. Of course he doesn't see that though.  
"....I won't look."  
He offers as if it makes me feel any better.  
"No." I shake my head and grab the tubes again, "I'll do this."  
Clearly annoyed he sighs roughly and suddenly yanks a bunch of the connectives out, I bite my tongue as he grumbles and notions me to go, after removing them.  
He's murmuring and I think calls me 'stubborn' but I don't care.  
A steady beep emanates from the machine from being disconnected so suddenly, and I'm sure this'll probably be trouble, but I don't care about that either to be honest.  
\---------------------------  
A nurse comes along after I'm already on my way back to the room reluctantly. I just tell her the truth, like what do they expect? She asks why I didn't just get a nurse and I shrug. Because--- Wait. How would I get a nurse without leaving? She then asks me if I'm alright and I want to say yes but my right arm is feeling numb and I'm started to get dizzy.  
"Mh...Can I just go home?"  
Putting a hand on my head I have to ask.  
"Not unless you have IV lines and antibiotic there."  
"...Uhh...."  
No. I groan as she leads me back there. Probably not trusting that I won't just leave. I wouldn't trust me either.  
"You could damage your veins pulling the tubes out incorrectly."  
"I wasn't the one who took em out."  
"Pardon?"  
"It was---"  
I stop myself before accidentally tripping myself to get Mr Peterson more annoyed at me if they start bugging him about stuff.  
"Uh....Nevermind."  
"Now stay here."  
The nurse reminds again.  
"..." I want to groan at the reminder but that'll make it worse, "Okay."  
.......After she leaves I roll my head. The most tiring thing is probably not having anything to do.  
\----------------------------  
When they finally say that I can leave I'm about ready to run out the door, 'slight light headedness' or not. I see Mr Peterson on my way towards the exit and for a second, wonder if he planned on staying. I wave to him but he just looks at me.  
....weird. I shrug and go to leave. It's nice to be back out in the fresh air.  
"....." Long way home though. And I realise I don't have my car, if they brought me in an ambulance... Wait. My car. That means it's still-- at the farm, right? I hope nobody decided to steal it.  
•Why would they want it, Nick? It's not that great.•  
Well thanks for the assurance.  
"----" Stretching while thinking about the walk home, I only get a few feet before I hear the front doors open with a quick shove and see Mr Peterson run out of it, see me, and growl.  
"What's your Deal, Man?"  
Honestly, I wonder sometimes. He gives me this look like he's annoyed. And I'm Confused. Turning out my hands,  
"I just got out of the hospital?"  
Like is he MAD I Didn't get the 'Ded' or WHAT? Maybe he WAS expecting me to die, and he'd wanted to see it. Well that's a turn off.  
He growls again turning his head away from me and puts his hands up to his face like it hurt.  
"..Hhh..."  
In my debate to just get going he suddenly says my name, and I stop.  
"Nicky.....Do ya...Want a lift?"  
"...What?"  
"........."  
"Oh. Uh...No." I put a hand on the back of my neck awkwardly and shake my head.  
"I was gonna walk it."  
"......" Mr Peterson squints his eyes at me and slowly smiles strangely,  
"You will walk it eh?"  
"Yeah." I knock my hand.  
He chuckles and claps his fist hand, seeming fine now that we were leaving.  
It's confusing. That much is for sure...

\-------------------------

15 minutes of walking from the hospital and I'm questioning my decision to walk it. The downward sloping of the hills doesn't make it any easier.  
The doctors had said I might still have muscle weakness and light headed spells. To 'take it easy'.  
They probably didn't know I was going to be walking a few miles to get home. And honestly I didn't think it through either. We're not even halfway there at this point, and my balance is already swaying.  
"Uhn..." I don't think I can keep walking steady like this. Mr Peterson doesn't seem to notice, as he keeps going but then jumps and turns around when he realises I'm 10 feet behind.  
"Uhh...." I definately need to rest, just a second, my vision is going dark. After staring at me, Mr Peterson runs at me and grabs my face. I don't have the coordination to flinch or move my arms but it startles me. I think I might be passing out again because I can't say anything about it either.  
He makes an odd noise, and his hand moves from my face to my side. I jerk backwards from the panic that gets sent to my brain as he picks me up off the ground.  
I wasn't aware he could still do that.  
He throws me over his shoulder and starts moving again. I hear him groan, though my vision is basically black.  
"No struggling."  
He orders, which ironically, makes me want to struggle, because it reminds me of the orders he gave me when I was a kid.  
\----If I'm not over it, why do I associate with this guy?--  
As much as my PTSD worries me, I'm sure he's just carrying me because he knew I was getting dizzy.  
We were walking to Raven Brooks and he saw I was going to fall down. He could've just let me sit for a few minutes but... Whatever....  
..........  
I changed my mind, I still don't like it.  
"Put me down."  
He doesn't.  
"Mr Peterson--"  
He probably can't hear me, but he does growl. Maybe he can tell I said something but doesn't know what it is. Maybe he's just growling because he's carrying me on his shoulders.  
He said not to struggle but it's the only way I can think of telling him to put me down.  
When I manage to move he gets annoyed, and I guess I should've planned on him just throwing me down when he'd had enough.  
"Quiet."  
"......." I curl up on the grass confused. I wasn't making any noise. Not that I know of. I certainly wasn't screaming or yelling. Did he think I was?  
I look around uncertainly as the colours to the world started to come back into picture. We're not on the road anymore. Is the first thing I notice. Which makes my questioning instinct rise again.  
Why were we off the road and in the trees?  
Mr Peterson curls his fingers and turns his body away from me growling. Surveying the area like we were being followed or something.  
I try to get up from my side, suddenly feeling Very uncomfortable with this.  
\--Feeling Get Back in me NOW.--- In my mind I'm ready to run.  
"There..." Mr Peterson starts to say nervously, "There was the...Police station..Back there."  
"So what, you..."  
His saying that threw me off. What did that matter?  
He rolls his shoulders and head. "Don't want em....Gettin the wrong idea. You passin out on me.."  
"...." While it sounds like he just didn't want any trouble if they'd seen us. I get an uneasy vibe from his behaviour. Like his thoughts weren't....Straight. It's different from the vibes I sometimes get. This one legitimately feels unstable and Threatening.  
"R--Right.."  
I just try to agree. Slowly making my legs and position into one easier to get up from quick as he keeps staring at me with this dangerous look in his eyes. A faint wry smirk on his face.  
"Hh...Hehheh...hhh...."  
Twisting the dirt under my nails I take off running on turning heel, I'm not sticking around to test if this is another Mis-Interpretation.  
Stumbling into a mad sprint I can hear him chasing after me. An insane low laugh bubbles from his lips and that's how I KNOW I am not safe.  
Fumbling and catching myself in the woods I try desperately to think of what to do that won't end in me on the ground and him overtop of me like some maniac.  
The details of the thought make me almost sick, my brain can't function fast enough into a solution and my feet won't last at this pace either.  
Not right Now.  
He could easily run for miles I'd bet.  
Oh god. Oh God...Think---  
I just head for the road. At least if I'm in the open maybe he won't be so quick to pounce on me. Maybe I'll see someone driving by. That'd be Great right about now.  
Ugh...My head's starting to feel fuzzy again, but I don't dare stop running. He's still following me and I can hear him gaining. I easily picture myself reaching reaching the road only to be grabbed backwards and dragged through the woods. The thought makes me go further, though it's getting harder to breathe.  
I want to scream for help but I know it won't likely do anything. I break the line and reach the road and stay on it. My eyes widening as I see a vehicle coming up this way, I wave my arm at them,  
"Hey---HEY!"  
They just look at me like I'M crazy and keep speeding by.  
I running out of options. Literally.  
Before my strength gives out again I stop and brace myself as Mr Peterson comes running at me his hands outstretched like claws, and Steel myself to shove mine into his chest and pull him aside. With the momentum of his run I end up throwing him down the side of the steep hill.  
I stare shocked I even did that. Let alone could. I think I do stop breathing as I watch Mr Peterson fall and tumble down the slope.  
I'm not sure what is happening or if I should run now the opposite way. I feel frozen and like my legs are jelly. Stuck to place.  
Taking a deep breath as he finally stops falling and just lays there by a rock crumpled inward.  
I breath out slowly and stare.  
He doesn't move, and I breathe again.  
What if he's dead. I literally just sent him flying down the rugged hillside. I might've just commited murder. Holy Crap.  
I take another deep breath in as the thoughts set in.  
Holy crap. Oh my god.  
I feel my own legs give out and drop to the pavement on my knees.  
What did I just....  
Oh my god.  
The thought kills everything in me. Like I hadn't already been going numb this solidifies it.  
I've killed somebody.  
Holy shit.  
I actually think that shock treatment saying has something to it because that revelation brought some feeling of clarity to my brain. I climb my way forwards uncertainly down the hill.  
Oh my god.  
I see him twitch from here, and uncertainly make myself get up and head towards him.  
Another 6 feet and he'd have landed in the lake.  
As I get closer I can't help but feel my heart wrench. I didn't want to do this. He just....  
Exhaling loudly I try to stable my breathe and bite my lip hearing him groan. His eyes are wide open, not unlike his usual gaze, just staring forwards. I don't think he sees me though. Like he's just in shock. He moves his mouth but no sound comes from it.  
I drop back down next to him and see no recognition of it. I hate it. But my eyes start burning.  
"Mister..."  
I can't bring myself to touch him, and drop my hand heavily. Collapsing my head. I resist the urge to cry.  
Knowing I definately failed Mya this time.  
I've killed her dad.

\-------------------------------------------

After what feels like a long time of exhaustion, anger and numbness, I hear a car pulling up behind me and the door opening and slam, quick movements.  
"The he'll Happened here??"  
A man's voice asked clearly bewildered. I sniff, not wanting to look at them, let alone answer.  
"I.....hh....He...He..."  
"Oh my god--"  
The man puts a hand on my shoulder as he looks at Mr Peterson. I can tell by his hand he's a heavy guy.  
"Is he ALIVE?"  
"Ugh.."  
Surely not, but then the man shoves me out of the way and I break to my senses.  
Seeing the Big scruffy man with his hairy large arms. He might've been a Fisher or something.  
Braver than me, he puts a hand on Mr Petersons raised shoulder and shakes it.  
"Ey--" he looks at me again, "What happened?"  
"He...Uh...." I don't dare look. "He...Fell. d--Down the hill."  
"You're serious?"  
Probably hadn't guessed it was that.  
I grab my arm uncomfortably and jump at the loud gasping noise Mr Peterson makes. His eyes meet the strangers and he pulls back his arm from his hand.  
Holy shit. I think to myself.  
I thought he was dead.  
Apparently I was wrong as he starts getting up alertly, despite groaning and grunting.  
The man is just as shocked as me and puts his hand out.  
"Whoa There, Hold Up just a Second---"  
Despite us being surprised I can see Mr Peterson isn't any less. And just looks scared, and confused as to who this guy was.  
"You ain't be in any hurry to go back." The guy says, I can see the words probably confuse him more.  
So I step in uncertainly,  
"He can't hear you. He's deaf."  
"Well you think you should be getting to the hospital?" The man replies, looking at me; "I mean I could drive you if you'd want."  
He's clearly baffled by Mr Petersons strange turn in behaviour.  
"...We actually.. were just coming from there."  
I have to admit awkwardly.  
"Ya kiddin me."  
"No.. It's...."  
"..Mrrh...." Lost in our discussion, Mr Peterson growls and rolls his head, getting up quickly, he doesn't even wait a second before going to lumber off. And I can't think of any way to stop him that wouldn't end Badly.  
"....Ya'll SURE this man fell down this hill here?"  
The guy asks me.  
"...I don't know what to tell you.."  
Honestly I really don't.  
The man looks at Mr Peterson wandering off and I wince seeing him stumble.  
"...You Ain't gonna follow him? Nothin?"  
I think despite his looks the man's a good guy.  
"Uh..." I....Should. but....  
"...I can't.."  
There's, No way of actually communicating here. He beyond reason. Clearly. How do you deal with that? I Can't. Literally.  
"....You know there's bears in these woods right?"  
I think the man is concerned for both him and our morals/sanity. I don't blame him.  
To be even more honest though, right now I can see Mr Peterson trying to fight a bear even if he's only 'half-there.' I don't know how it's possible, but I can see it.  
"..........."  
°Nicky. As much as it might seem like it, he's Not invincible. He's insane. You're lucky he didn't just die from being thrown down here. Imagine what you'll feel like when you let him walk into a bears nest or something.°  
"UGHhh..." Groaning loudly I get to my feet and go after him.  
\-----------------------------  
Isn't this the opposite of what you do in horror films? Why would follow and try to convince a disorientated crazy deaf guy who was more or less going to assault you earlier--I THINK--- To not wander off into the woods after You had shoved him down a hill.  
Like.....Do I have alot of empathy? Or am I a C-List victim who keeps Asking to get trouble put in their way?  
I tell myself that this time it's because if I don't I'll look like a total ass in front of this nice dude that stopped to help.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't kill a man. But who is this stranger that stopped for us? And what am I gonna do about HIM?

The stranger watches me go after Mr Peterson, and I admit, I'm really weary about doing this. Chances are he'd prefer if he was alone. And Extra confused from what happened, I don't doubt for a second that it's a bad idea to approach him.  
"Like what am I gonna do?"  
He'll freak if I go up to him. I know it.  
I can hear him breath from here, and sound catching in his throat. It doesn't look like he knows where he's even going.  
"Hh...." I can't do it. I can't go up to him, and--- That guy doesn't Know what I'm dealing with.  
"--Nnhh..." Mr Peterson slows to a practical stop and I stand extra still from far back.  
Moaning, he slumps forwards, moving like a zombie, in anguish- and there's nothing I can do about it.  
He swipes his hands at the air groggily like he's fighting something I can't see, and groaning. The sound catches in his throat again strangled like he tries to but cannot scream.  
My stomach turns at the sight and horrifying sounds.  
"Ughn....Ugh...Hhhugh....rrhh--"  
Mr Peterson grabs his head and unsteadily, gasping and moaning gutteral terror.   
I think he must be fighting off fainting from confusion. God how I wish he'd just faint. That'd be easier.  
The man who'd stopped for us must've heard him and came up behind me surprisingly quiet for his size and startled me.  
"Holy, shit." He remarks upon seeing what was going on. I feel like he doesn't blame me for staying my distance.  
"This guy Possessed or what?"  
So okay. I'm not the only one that doesn't think---THIS, is normal, for anyone. I'm not going crazy. He sees it too.  
"Nnugh...Ughn..Ugh..."  
"...Poor guy."  
.....So what do we do? I'm honestly hoping this stranger has some idea because I Don't.  
Mr Petersons still hanging onto a rope of conciousness and looks like he'll stay there, swinging back and forth into darkness and chaos.  
"........A'ight. I've seen enough of this."  
The big guy says and I think he's gonna go try to stop him, until Mr Peterson sees his movement and runs at him. Bearing in mind the size difference in them I freeze in blank terror.  
The man's startled but he doesn't look afraid of him and catches his hand on Mr Petersons face and shoulder and directs him to the ground. And tries to grab hold of him into a restraint move.  
He still has the strength to struggle and I have no idea Why.  
I think it should be physically impossible so either it's because Mr Peterson is insane and obeys no logic or because he's ACTUALLY Possessed.  
He's probably not used to being the one subdued physically either. So that doesn't help.  
"If I get to this age---" The man says still keeping his grip, "and can still put up this much of a fight then Damn."  
I think he's trying hard to resist some urge to crack Mr Petersons neck.  
................He eventually stops struggling, but the guy doesn't let go of him. I'm sure I'm not the only one thinking he'll just run off now that he knew the man outmatched him in strength.  
I vaguely Pray some kind of sanity clicks in his head, but it's really hard to say. He just stills like he's made of stone, and keeps staring straight, emotionless.  
Makes me wonder if you'd know he had a heart attack.  
"...So you alright now eh?"  
The man wonders, so do I but I just shrug in confusion. "I don't know."  
We're silent for a minute and then Mr Peterson spits words, "Fucking Shit."  
"..." I look at him surprised, and I'm sure that surprised turned into baffled by what followed it.  
"Fucking Cuck Shit Duck Ducking Dunt."  
I glance at the guy to Make Sure I'm not the only one hearing this as Mr Peterson continues to swear with a disturbingly blank look on his face.  
It's not just me, because I see the bemused expression on the guy's face as well.  
"Uhhh...."  
I don't know what to think, but the guy releases one of his arms when Mr Peterson pauses his string of slurs. I'm surprised the man seems to sign while he asks,  
"You good now?"  
Mr Peterson is done with reality, by the look of skepticism on his face.  
"Y'Bugger Off."  
The man chuckles surprisingly at his annoyance and gets up,  
"Time to go fishing."  
I stare at him in disbelief as he just walks off like nothing happened.  
\---------------------------------  
Mr Peterson seemed to have calmed down, so I left him alone. I doubt he'll go off wandering now. Though he might be questioning life.  
I leave him to it because I know the mood honestly. Sometimes it's best to leave people alone--If they aren't at risk of hurting themselves.  
I'm so glad that man had stopped by. So, So glad.  
I don't know what I would've done.  
I'm surprised at how quickly he turned casual after the situation was over, and I find him setting up his supplies. He really was going fishing.  
"Hey guy, Is he alright?"   
"I think so." Shrugging, I reply a little nervously, "...Thanks. For you help there."  
"No problem."  
"......"  
He seems like a nice guy, considering he looks like he's from an Indie horror film. If I hadn't met him like this and just saw him down the street, I might've been intimidated by him. Kind of like, Mr Peterson, I guess. I wonder if this guy has a dark alternate personality.  
"...Sit down, Sit down." He urges, "What're you Nervous?"  
"....." I kinda Am actually. While, Yeah, he seems like a nice guy and he helped me out, there was something about him.....Maybe it's just his size and deep voice. Something that seems...Familiar. In a way that I can't place it. But I do sit down.  
"So you were leaving the hospital, eh?"  
He asks,  
".....Yeah." I forgot I mentioned it.  
"What for?"  
"Uh....I was there for... I think a head injury, and food poisoning."  
"Oh. It wasn't him that were?"  
I guess he'd assumed it'd been Mr Peterson who was in the hospital. I mean--- I guess I would've too given the situation.  
"No."  
".....So you been with him long?"  
"----What?" I turn my head at his asking, that sounded weird. I don't know if that's by accident, but I didn't like it.  
"I mean, You hang out often? Or..."  
The man tries, not much better.  
"...Uhh...." I feel a little uncomfortable given he could see the age between me and Mr Peterson, right? Maybe?  
"I, um...I guess. I mean..."  
I glance at him unsurely wondering if maybe this guy was also weird. Curse my luck.  
I shrug, hoping it's not as bad as I assume.  
"You don't have to explain if you don't want."  
He says noticing, I guess, that I'm uncomfortable. Which makes it a bit better.  
We're both quiet for awhile, and even though I can't shake my nervousness completely, I feel like I can start to enjoy the fresh air again.  
We don't talk about what happened, and I honestly don't think about it. Although I do check backwards into the woods to see if Mr Peterson was still there. I hadn't heard anything but he could've left.  
"So you, been in Raven Brooks long?"  
The man eventually asks, I think he's just trying to make casual talk-- Which I'm not that good with, but I shrug my shoulder.  
"Ehh.....Not really. -- I mean, I lived here as a kid, but, I was gone for like...Years. I just recently moved back."  
A few months ago now. More around 8, actually, now that I think about it. I'm surprised it's been almost a year...  
"You?" I ask,  
"I'm about the same alright." He nods, "Been back a few years."  
"................"  
I wonder what drove him away, or if he'd just moved. What brought him back to stay? I'm not gonna ask a stranger about it but I do wonder.  
"Nothing much's changed." He remarks, "I'm surprised."  
"...."  
He chuckles a bit and I wonder if that's what's familiar? Maybe I'd seen him as a kid? He looks a little older than me, but Who knows?  
"Hmm....."  
In a way, it's kind of nice to have something in common, even abstract like this.  
Maybe it'd been a good thing I pushed Mr Peterson down the hill after all. Sounds like an evil thing to say, -- and I hope he doesn't hate me (even more?) For it, but--- What was I gonna do? Maybe at the least he won't try and chase me anymore.

\----------------------------

I feel like maybe me and him could be friends.  
Maybe.  
And start to think that maybe Mr Peterson had gone off hinge because he hadn't taken any medication. I'm sure he must've been prescribed something to take that'd help with keeping his thinking in check. He'd been at the hospital with me so when would be the last two me he took it? When he left his house last. Maybe I'm just an idiot.  
What kind of guy are you Nick? --The type to reason with and forgive his abuser. It'd look great on a resume, wouldn't it? Resume-- That reminds me, I'll have a couple days backlog on my education. Totally forgot about it.  
We talk some and the man pulls in a fish.  
Mr Peterson watches from a distance, he seems both intrigued and depressed equally. I kinda feel bad for him in a sense, and I think the other guy does too. He tries to notion him over but I think Mr Peterson is wary of him. Probably because of earlier especially. Which makes it more awkward. But I find that kind of funny. I try not to show it but when the guy gets up to go bring Mr Peterson over here and he starts getting panicked I can barely keep from laughing. The man's just being friendly, but I don't think Mr Peterson comprehends that much.  
When he finally got him to come over, Mr Peterson gave me hesitant looks, and I wondered why, if he was Fearful now that I'd been physical with him in return. But instead he offers.a reluctant apology. I guess for... Scaring me, and implicating he was going to assault me, and then chasing me through the woods.  
"Ah....I.. Don't know what came over me."  
"...."  
I nod, I'm not sure I 100% believe him, but I feel something that he bothered to make an apology, and Seemed to regret it.  
The guy doesn't know what he's talking about, and I respect that he doesn't ask.  
\-------------------------  
We agree to drop Mr Peterson off at his place. I'm a little worried with him going back there and John. But he's not coming to my house and learning that's where I live still.  
I make notes in my head to remember not to sit next to him in a car if we ever get in one together again.  
"Any plans open?"  
The man asks me when it's just us.  
"Uh..." I squeeze my arm a bit, "Nothing big."  
Shrugging, I never say I have nothing. Even if that's the case.  
".........." And then it suddenly hits me that I know what's familiar about this guy. I'm surprised it didn't dawn on me earlier. He looks similar to how Mr Peterson looked when he was younger. Just he's thicker and more rugged. His eyes aren't quite the same, they're...Brown.  
I feel myself go dead quiet and sweat a little.  
Aaron? Could this guy be...  
He even seemed to know sign. So it...Could be... Aaron?  
\------  
"You gone quiet on me. Something wrong?"  
The man asks, as he's driving.  
"Uh....Um...No. It's good. I'm good."  
He chuckles a bit at my reply, before I can ask he continues on with what he'd been going to before.  
"Was thinking maybe we could get something to eat. Ya like burgers?"  
"Uh....I don't usually go for it, but..."  
He laughs,  
"You don't eat any fancy lil meals that cost big money do ya?"  
"..No." I'm poor. But I don't tell Him that.  
"Sh what do you eat then?"  
"Uh....Apples?"  
He laughs again and makes a 'pssh' noise, " 'Apples', I'll take you somewhere good. Might change your mind."  
I get the impression he thinks I'm some sick, maybe even Anorexic dude. I mean. I guess I am really skinny (and was in the hospital..) But..  
"Thank you."  
I just say, still not sure if this stranger was Aaron or not. I'm finding it hard to believe, but at the same time it Does seem like a possibility.  
I would just ask for his name but I feel kind of afraid to.  
I don't know why, like...Either way, he seems nice...  
\-----------  
The man takes me to a BBQ and grill pubstyle eatery. Somehow I'm not surprised with his choice.  
It turns out he'd wanted to talk to more about a few thinngs too.  
He orders a side of wings, potato skins and cheesy coleslaw for each of us. I'd never eat this normally, but I can't just say 'no thanks' after he paid for my meal without being asked to even get me something. Like, that's just major rude.  
"Hn??" He raises an eyebrow at me, asking what I think after I've tried some of it.  
"Not bad."   
I admit,  
"Hehhehheh..."  
I've never been here actually, it seems like a spot for mostly guys to just hangout and stuff.  
"So..." The guy starts eventually, "Not to sound, I don't know. Creepy, or anything, but... I thought Mr P was put away in some mental home?"  
"...." I have Several questions from his asking that, but I just carefully start with--  
"You know Mr Peterson?"  
He chuckles with a smirk, "Yeah."  
He doesn't say anything else, so I guess I'll just answer the question,  
"He was, in a mental hospital. They transferred him to a residence home a few months ago."  
The man nods interested, and rubs his chin,  
"Is that right huh? You think he's doing good?"  
He pauses, "Aside from today?"  
He quips at the thought of him 'falling down the hill'.  
"Yeah...I guess..Um..."  
I really want to know. His story, his appearance, that Look in his features, his knowing Mr Peterson. Is this man really Aaron? I try to play it normally.  
"Sorry, I, Don't think I got your name earlier?"  
It's kind of weird actually we haven't introduced each other yet. He seems to think about it for a second, and if it's just your name I wonder why you'd have to think about it.  
"Oh you haven't." He says like he thought he'd mentioned it. "I'm Jason, Bird."  
"???" I'm confused. Immediately. He's NOT Aaron? Really? But....Okay. I'm not gonna ask him, 'aren't you Aaron?' if he says his name is 'Jason.'  
"Nicky Roth." I guess I'll say.  
He gives a smirky smile when I did. I Swear he already knew me. Weird vibes. And If he ISN'T Aaron... Then...  
"How do you know Mr Peterson?"  
"How would I NOT Know him?" He jokes back, making me even more suspicious, but he adds,  
"Anybody who grew up in Raven Brooks when we were kids knows Mr Peterson. Come on Nick."  
"......."  
He seems so casual with how he talks to me, but maybe that's just his personality? I don't know. Either way, the way he says it makes me kind of uncomfortable. I'd rather not ask, or think about what he means, but... I do.  
"Did you...Were you..." There's no right way of asking is there?  
"I knew him pretty well."  
'Jason' admits, I'm still questioning him mentally when he chuckles and says,  
"Always into the kids. Weird, 'Friendly' Mr Peterson."  
I swear if he Is Aaron I'm going to be so mad at him for mentioning what I think he's mentioning around me. If he's Really not--- I'll feel bad. For him. What, was he one of those creepy victims that like their Adult fascinators? God that makes me sick.  
•You're still associating with him Nicky. Don't even try to just pass that off.•  
\--I'm 'Associating' because I'm not scared, and.. That doesn't Mean---  
"Ugh." I shake my head putting up a hand.  
I don't think we see eye to eye on that.  
I almost say,I don't know WHAT to say with that statement in the air. I gulp.  
"I...Like to think he's different. Now."  
"......." Jason makes a sound like he isn't convinced.  
"So just a bad day then today, I guess?"  
"...I guess."  
I hope I haven't made things awkward. I mean... He'd Seemed like an okay guy, but...  
Maybe if it is just Aaron messing with me I can somewhat excuse it. Though that'd be weird.  
But if he legitimately is some guy who used to be one of Mr Petersons victims or a captive. And he's saying he LIKED him despite--- FOR it. I'm disgusted.  
Like. Seriously. Don't even talk to me about it. I do Not want to remember the worst of things again.  
I've already gotten over and done with it.  
\------------------  
That night I try to think of all the reasons why Aaron might lie to me about who he was if that man was him.  
I don't feel like he's really NOT him. There's too many similarities for me to believe he stopped and helped me out with Mr Peterson just because he was some weird-headed dude. No. He stopped because he saw that was his dad laying there after how many years.  
His build and features were so familiar now that I'd gotten the chance to really see him without being in panic. His way of handling Mr Petersons aggression and psychotic flip out like he'd seen the kind of stuff before. And he'd known how to use Sign to speak to him. Why would a stranger now Sign Language? It sounds bad, but really, what are the chances he'd look that much like him And know Sign speak? Pretty low I'd think.  
........Maybe he just didn't want me telling Mr Peterson who he was. I think that might be it. Since he knew/figures I 'hangout' (Ugh?) With him, he doesn't want me telling him that he was around or had helped him. Maybe he doesn't want anything to do with his dad. So he's called himself a new name and doesn't go by 'Aaron' or 'Peterson' anymore. To get rid of his trauma and his past. It could be. It might be...  
It's a shame I won't be able to pull any 'wow, you really put on weight.' jokes with him if we have to pretend we don't know each other from before. But at the same time at least, I'm glad he's even alive. I don't know how many times I went through horrible dreams--Nightmares. Where I pictured terrible things happening to him. And felt guilty and hurt each time.  
If he doesn't want to be known as Aaron, I'll respect that. I'm just glad to feel something turned out well.

\-----------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last sequenced chapter written for Beyond the Dream😔  
I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed working on it😅


	13. Extra Chapter--- Regression.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-alpha/alpha 1 influenced.  
(Probably won't continue) first part is complete.

'Young Woman, Emily Schauden (25) found dead at residential home on Ecanch Street'  
The title of the report will be when it's published.  
'Paramedics were called to the home of the Mental Health Patient in the early hours of the morning after a neighbour noticed an unconscious man laying on her front yard. When responders arrived they learned that the house had been broken into and discovered Emily Schauden inside the home with multiple stab wounnds in her abdomen.  
Police investigation reveals that the Mental Health Patient of AdEnthral (Emily.S.) had a record of Depression and Generalised Anxiety Disorder. A history of Drug abuse and attempted Self-harm.  
Which police believe may have been warnings or to play in the events that took place Wednesday night. The investigation was conclusive that the cause of death was Suicide. Reportedly, Friend, asked not to be named, Male 32, responded to a phone call from Emily just past 12:30 a.m. where he claims she spoke in a panicked tone and did not sound like herself. When she hung up on him he went to check on her and found the door locked, window curtains closed and no sign of entry or anyone around. Failing to get a signal from Emily after attempts were made, the Friend went across the street to get the aid of another Mental Health Patient whom he's acquainted with. According to account, upon breaking into Emily's home, The other, Requested not to be named Male 55 discovered her, and then took the 32 y.o. out of the home when he began to go into panic. It is unclear exactly why no phone call was made from this point. However Police are not planning to Persue charges or investigate the matter further.'  
Author: Jeremy Smiths  
That's the article I wrote. Typed out in the paper, based on what I was given.  
There are things that I don't put into that article.  
I had reached out to and spoken with 32 year old Nicholas Roth, who I could not name in my publishing, and he strikes me as very low income. Scruffy and thin. He has an odour about him. I'm surprised he isn't on AdEnthrals list of registered patients. He'd explained the situation to me uneasily, that Emily had told him about things she'd heard, and how she had believed someone was outside her home. Nicholas claims his immediate reaction was to phone the police -- But they had told him they couldn't take the case.   
I was not allowed to include these details in my write up. Which makes it clear to me that there is a distinct misconnection between local police and the dealings with cases involving M.H. Patients.  
What if there was a case for investigating here? And they pass it up due to it not being 'in their jurisdiction' to deal with presumed delusions or nonsense?  
I leave the possibilities open.  
And I question what a 25 year old woman would be doing with a 32 year old like Mr Roth. They were supposedly friends. But given her history of Drug abuse I question if in fact he had been supplying her with any substances. There's plenty I've seen in my day to pick out a persons features based on their looks and attitude. The body language they use.  
I'm not allowed to go into this detail any further. Due to police calling off investigation, company rules and 'professional limitation'. But I don't doubt for a second that there's something more to this than simply delusions and self-inflicted wounds.  
According to Mr Roth's statement, he had went across the street and gotten the aid of one of the resident M.H. patients there he knew. After a search I found the man's name was 'Theodore Peterson.'  
Perhaps if I speak with him I could get some new answers.  
\--------------  
Immediately on opening the door, I received mixed messages about the older man. But before I could say a word he slammed the doors back in my face and locked them.  
Rather suspicious behaviour I'd say.  
I knock on the door, knowing he hadn't left, and look through the window aside it when there's no response. He's just standing there staring at it.  
The second he notices me his head turns and he grasps his face tightly. I only run when he shatters the window glass with his fist.  
Madman or not they were supposed to be stable before being given residence here.  
Mr Peterson didn't strike me as quite stable. Perhaps I just caught him on a bad day. But I have a feeling that isn't it.  
The Police may be content with keeping this story as 'Clinically mental, former addict dies by suicide.'  
But I believe there might be more worth investigating. First her 'friend' Nicholas is reluctant to speak to me about the issue. Now Theodore, whom he'd supposedly gone to for help, is slamming doors in my face without a word in and breaking his own window glass.  
\--------------  
If they aren't interested in performing the investigation I think is warranted, I'll be the volunteer to move in across the street on temporary observance, to make sure there ISN'T anything further suspicious going on around this Neighbourhood.

End:Jeremy P.o.v.  
\-------------------------------------------  
(Return to, Nicky P.o.v.)  
A week later,

"......" This can't be good.  
I get uneasy as I pull up down the street from the blue house. I see Mr Peterson walking around outside and stopping to examine things.  
I get out of my car and warily head over. He's carrying traps. Dangling the metallic things from his hand. Beartraps.   
I flashback to when I was a kid and how many of those damn things he set up around the place.  
Surprised I'm not scared. Knowing it means trouble.  
Mr Peterson bends down and places another trap in the lengthy grass going around the side of the house. I don't assume he hasn't put them elsewhere too. And that he won't attack me if I go closer. I've figured out he startles easily. And his first response is usually 'attack'.  
Kind of makes it hard getting his attention.  
I wave my arm back and forth on the other side of the fence hoping he'll see the movement, it's the shadow that alerts him and he straightens up quickly from the ground, staring at me level.  
I hope he doesn't think I'VE been sneaking around his house and these traps he's laying are for ME.  
I put up my hands in a 'white-flag' gesture and show him the question I've written;  
'Is something going on? You're setting up traps.'  
"I know." Mr Peterson replies and squints his right eye like he can't think of what else he'd been going to say, so growls.  
I know this means there's something wrong. But I Don't know if it's legit or with Him.  
......'You think there's someone stalking the house?'  
Maybe Emily WAS hearing things for real before--- and it didn't have to do with them.  
He seems reluctant to answers and rolls his head with another growl and turns away from me. Going back to what he'd been doing with his checks and figuring out where to set up more traps.  
..........I'd dismiss it-- Maybe. As him just being paranoid, true. If Emily hadn't been mentioning hearing 'him' outside her place. And been suspicious as well there was someone around that shouldn't be. I watch him from here awhile and write down what I'd say next;  
'I Don't think you're crazy. I just want to know why you're putting beartraps out, have you seen someone?'  
I put my hand down and hop over the fence. Probably the stupidest thing I could've done if I'd even thought about about it.  
Mr Peterson sees me inside of the yard and turns a hostile gaze. The next I know he's chasing me out of the yard because I realise how dangerous he might be still carrying those sharp vice griping traps with him.  
"Wait--Wait--"  
I stop a few feet from the yard when he doesn't move any further than outside the fence.  
"I didn't--- I mean---"  
Does he think I did it? Whatever the reason is he's acting like this?  
"....." He gives me a long stare and grunts, shaking his head, he points at me, thumbs his hand back and I only assume he's telling me to stay out of the yard.  
He grunts againand goes to return to his business. Now looking back to his side's every so often as if to make sure I'm not following him.  
I don't like the looks of this. There's honestly not much I think I can do if he's like this. I wish I could've just gotten more information as to what caused it. Or if he suspects me.  
Hhhh....  
Maybe I'll lay low for awhile. Just stay away. But won't that just make him suspect me more? Should I find out what the reason is?  
........All my thinking and it's just now I really recognise that he'd been setting Beartraps. That means he bought a bunch of them. That must have been one of the first things he got at a store after he got his freedoms back. He buys Beartraps.  
"......" I sigh still standing out on the road and guess I should start heading on my way.l before Mr Peterson comes back from around the house and sees me still here.  
But How can I explain to him that Whatever it is that'sgot him on edge--- It's Not me?

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first HN story, I've been a learning authour for several years, so I just couldn't resist writing my own take on one of the possibilities for this story that grabbed me.😅  
Since the books released were told in First Person from Nicky's perspective, as well as the gameplay, I tried to emulate that style.  
Hope you enjoyed and would look forward to the rest👍  
(This Story was originally written and completed in dec.2018/Early January 2019)


End file.
